


Faith I

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Adventure, Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-03-25
Updated: 2002-03-25
Packaged: 2018-11-21 00:50:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11346588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: A nightmarish evil is stalking and killing five former students of Winterborne school, leaving a trail of death and disaster in its wake. As Mulder and Scully investigate this new X-File, the maverick FBI agent begins to suffer from strange attacks which, like the murders, all seem to be triggered by a young man named Faith.





	Faith I

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

Faith I

## Faith I

#### by Chad Moore

Title: Faith I  
Author: Chad Moore  
Feedback to:   
Author's Website: http://members.tripod.com/~charmed_jedi/dreamworld.html  
Date Archived: 03/25/02  
Category: Drama, Romance, Adventure     
Pairing: Mulder/Skinner         
Rating: NC-17  
Spoilers: This serial story takes place a few months after "Fight the Future." In this alternate version of Season Six, Mulder and Scully are back on the X-Files, with references to previous episodes peppered throughout.  
Permission to Archive: Slashing Mulder, Down In The Basement.  
Series or Sequel/Prequel: The first story in a brand new, continuing series.  
Notes: Dedication: To Cerulean Blue, whose amazing series opened the door and inspired me to write XF Slash in the first place.   
Acknowledgement: Special thanks and love to my friend and beta reader, Goddess Michele. I could not have done this without you.  
Warnings:   
Disclaimer: The X-Files and all familiar characters are owned by 1013, Fox Television and were created by Chris Carter; any others were conceived in my warped imagination. No infringement intended.  
Summary: A nightmarish evil is stalking and killing five former students of Winterborne school, leaving a trail of death and disaster in its wake. As Mulder and Scully investigate this new X-File, the maverick FBI agent begins to suffer from strange attacks which, like the murders, all seem to be triggered by a young man named Faith.

* * *

**PART ONE: BOYS WILL BE BOYS**

Eighteen years ago... 

"The project will be a success." 

CGB Spender blew out a plume of blue smoke, watching the sea of anxious faces before him. How many times did he have to placate the Elders? Yes, things were at a critical juncture, but they could be easily controlled. It was only a matter of time. 

"We've heard this song from you before," the First Elder sternly replied. He stood from a plush armchair to stare out of a curtained window onto the bustling New York street far below. 

On cue, the Second Elder spoke up, straightening his suit as he talked, "Your reassurances are thin. Every test report says the same thing: Mutation, Death, Failure." 

With one hand in a pocket, Spender used the other to take another long drag of his cigarette. 

"Remember, we agreed that the project had a ninety-five percent failure risk," he told the assembled Consortium members. "We still have one more test subject and I'm certain success is imminent." 

The First Elder turned from the window, the expression on his tanned face grim. 

"This is your last chance, Charles. Either bring us news of success or The Hive will be terminated. We can not take any more risks." 

Keeping his eyes on the Tunisian, Spender vaguely nodded while stubbing out his Morley in a stainless steel ash tray. He left the darkened room, heavy thoughts preying on his mind. 

Those arrogant fools, how could they jeopardize the project when they were so close to achieving what they'd set out to do? 

He was willing to risk several hundred mutants--which could be easily disposed of--to make The Hive viable. 

The clones were in place, harvesting the crops, tending to the bees. All that was needed was one success, only one. 

* * *

Seventeen years later... 

Yeah, this is my idea of fun. Summoning up a spirit on a Friday night. Couldn't they think of something else to do two weeks before graduation? 

Faith folded his arms over his chest and shivered in the dorm room of Nick Jameson, the most popular senior of Winterborne School for Boys. Flickering candles provided the only illumination as the windows were draped with thick black curtains. The twin beds had been pushed aside and, in their place, a large red circular symbol with an eye in the exact center, and dotted with little drawings of ravens and crows, was painted on the hardwood floor. 

If his Pop knew what was going on, Frank Matthews would yank his son from Winterborne so fast it'd make the headmaster's head spin. His folks had worked their keisters off to send him here for a good education, not take part in something weird like this. He understood it was a tradition to contact Elijah Fetchingham, a looney tune English professor who'd jumped to his death from Winterborne's tower room, and whose ghost still haunted the halls and classrooms. On quiet nights it was said that Elijah's tortured wailing could be heard from the tower. The thought of talking to his spirit made Faith shiver all over. 

Faith, despite his name, was tough and never let anyone push him around, which forced him to wonder how in the world he could've let Parker bamboozle him into this. He'd always been in tune to all things New Agey and mystical, and Faith knew better than to idly mess around with supernatural forces. 

He glanced suspiciously over at Nick, his roomate Toby Bradford, and their friend Jackson Sutton: all three had slipped into dark robes with hoods hiding most of their heads. Nearby Parker held a similar robe over an arm as Nick placed black candles around the circle. 

Okay, that's it! thought Faith as he popped Parker on the arm. 

"I thought you said we were going to a party," he whispered, his New Jersey accent coming through even thicker in his nervousness. 

Parker took him aside. "We're just having a little fun, Faith." 

Faith waved a hand at the occult scene. "This is not my idea of fun." He brushed his light brown bangs from his hazel eyes, getting increasingly frustrated. 

"Don't you want to be with us?" Parker asked innocently. 

Faith knew what he was implying, but he was already popular enough, thank you very much. 

"No," he adamantly told Parker, "I wanna get the heck out of here, now." He edged toward the door. 

Nick, who had overheard their hushed conversation, stalked toward them. "It's too late," he said, reaching to lock the door. "We need you to complete the circle," he added at Faith. 

Hinting a sense of desperation in Nick's voice, Faith narrowed his eyes at him. He'd always had a weird feeling around Mr. Big Shot Nick and now Faith knew why. He swiftly pulled Parker away into a tight corner. 

"Doesn't this seem strange?" Faith asked, watching Nick re-join Jackson and Toby who were kneeling beside the painted circle; the candles ringing it seemed to make the eye blaze into life. "It's freaky to me." 

Parker cocked his head to the side. "Faith," he began, but Faith quickly added, "Hello, anybody home? This doesn't bother you?" He nearly gasped aloud as Parker pressed his palms against the wall and leaned into him. Though Faith was slim and tall, Parker stood a good head higher than him. Faith felt his heart thump. Trust him to fall for a guy with Brad Pitt looks. 

"Faith, just do this one thing and we can go," he said in a deep, persuasive tone. 

His sometime-lover was on the verge of exploding. "Would you please get real? This is too spooky." 

"For me?" Parker pouted. "Please?" 

Faith sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. Against his better judgement he reluctantly gave in. "Okay, fine," he pointed a finger in Parker's face, "but this better be quick." 

Parker wore a triumphant grin and shrugged into his robe. He and his friends had tried the summoning ceremony and failed each and every time. They needed a fifth member and he knew he could talk Faith into it. He came to kneel beside Nick. 

"I thought you said he was willing," Toby hissed at him. 

"He'll be fine," Parker reassured them. He looked back and waved Faith forward. "C'mon, Faith." 

Faith took his own sweet time walking over, still not believing he was actually taking part in a sance. 

A worn book lay on the floor next to Nick. It was opened to a page displaying the same eye symbol painted on the floor. Nick peered down at it, reading. His heart beat quickened with excitement. Just invoke these words, he thought, and all that he desired would be his. 

Looking up he instructed, "Now, we must all join hands." 

Parker reached for Faith, who sighed exasperatedly before taking his hand and Jackson's. He noticed that Nick had not taken anyone's hand, instead he stepped into the center of the circle; directly on top of the eye. 

"Hey, where's the ouija board?" Faith whispered out of the corner of his mouth. 

Parker hushed him and Faith made a face right back at him. Nick raised his hands to the ceiling and chanted something in what Faith vaguely recognized as Gaelic. Score one for the A-plus average! 

"Great Mirragan," Nick suddenly called in a loud voice, "come forth and fill us with your spirit. Bestow upon us the power and the glory we seek." 

Mirragan? Patience nil, Faith had seen enough. The Vincent Price act was thoroughly wigging him out. He started to protest, but choked on a gasp as Nick took a long knife from the folds of his robes. 

"Accept this blood in exchange for your blessing, oh Mirragan!" 

Faith's eyes widened in horror. Nick sliced at his hand, pouring dark red blood onto the eye. It rippled across the paint and a sudden cold wind blasted through the dorm room. 

Nick, holding the knife aloft, approached Toby, who held out his palm. 

"I pledge my life and my death..." While Nick intoned, he started to carve the eye symbol with the tip of the dagger into Toby's flesh. 

Ignoring the pain, Toby repeated, "I pledge my life and my death..." 

"To Mirragan whom we shall serve," Nick finished, lowering the knife. He straightened, and moving toward Jackson, continued to chant, "We who serve you, we who receive all that you bestow, call upon you." 

Parker's grip on Faith's trembling hand lessened. Faith shot an angry, frightened look at him, and Parker seemed to be almost as freaked about his psycho freak cult friends as Faith was. 

This was no sance, no belevolent spirit would contact them. Faith shivered, knowing that the forces which were being called were more dark and dreadful than they could imagine. 

"Stop it!" Faith yelled at the top of his lungs. 

The light of each and every candle extinguished themselves in the blink of an eye. Plunged into darkness, Faith tried to shake loose from the two hands he was holding. 

"Let me go! Don't make me start throwing down Jersey in here!" he warned. 

"Don't interrupt the ceremony!" Nick Jameson shouted, dangerously. 

Faith glared at him in the gloom. "I swear I'm gonna hit somebody!" 

There came the sudden, frantic sound of flapping wings outside of the windows, as if hundreds of birds threatened to burst through the glass. Then a ghostly wailing echoed through the room. 

Nick threw his muscular arms wide. "She comes!" 

The wailing turned into a scream. 

Faith finally broke free and scrambled backward, searching for the way out. The fear in his heart threatened to burst through his chest. His hands found the door and he pulled on the handle; it was still locked. Faith whipped around as the others began to cry out. 

"Mirragan! Mirragan! Mirragan!" 

The scream filled his ears, then began an upward spiral to a bloodcurdling shriek, forcing Faith to clap his hands over his ears. Through the darkness he could just make out a wispy white figure floating above the cirle. It turned to stare at him and Faith froze in terror at the horrible face. 

All he could hear in his mind was a raspy voice full of hatred and evil screeching, "Death! Death! Death!" He felt strong hands pulling at him, drawing him back toward the circle, engulfing him in darkness. 

Then, the door opened. 

* * *

One year later... 

Beneath a full moon Nick Jameson, rich, influential, and already his university's most valuable player, raced, horror-stricken, through the smokey, empty streets. Sweat glistened on his chiseled features as the chilled air plastered his hair down. He looked left to right, searching desperately for a cab or someone to help him. 

He'd enjoyed a year of wealth, success and more women than he could handle. He shouldn't have a care in the world, except the low, ghostly wailing pursuing him brought back memories of Winterborne and the night of the ceremony. 

Though it was interrupted by the headmaster, Nick had believed it to be a success. He and his friends had all enjoyed instant fame and fortune. That is everyone except for Faith Matthews, and he... 

Nick's train of thought burst as the low wailing turned into a screeching roar which echoed off the dark, grimy brick buildings. 

He quickened his pace, looking over his shoulder only to find an empty street. He could feel a presence looming up behind him. Nick slipped on the wet pavement. Landing heavily, he scraped his hand painfully but quickly got back on his feet and continued on from the advancing terror. 

All along the road, street lamps flickered and crackled as if from some power surge. The smoke rising from the inky asphalt closed in eerily like it was being drawn together from some unseen force. Out of the haze came a bellowing screech and, suddenly, every single light shattered. 

From somewhere nearby, he jumped from a sudden loud cawing sound. Dozens of large black crows were perched on the power lines above. 

Nick stumbled on blindly, running into an alley, and crashing past old boxes and tipped over garbage cans. A stray tabby glanced up from its fish-bone meal. It hissed at the shadows and bolted away. 

Panic-stricken, Nick ran as fast as he could; stumbling around corner after corner until he found nothing but a dead end waiting for him. An ear-piercing shriek emanated close behind. He turned around and stared upward, horrified, at a thick, white hovering mist. A face, pale and decaying, appeared out of the fog. 

Nick screamed, "Please, no!" 

There was a terrible, hungry cackle as the haze swooped down to envelope him. Nick gave one last death cry as his lifeless body crumpled to the ground. The mist parted and the thin figure of a ghostly old woman materialized on the street. 

* * *

**PART TWO: FUNERAL PARLOR TRICKS**

Special Agent Dana Scully exited the lift and walked down the dark corridor to her partner's office. When she'd first been assigned to Fox "Spooky" Mulder, she'd felt a little resentful that his office was in the basement. Now, she appreciated the seclusion. 

Only a few months ago, they had been forcibly taken off the X-Files, but the events in Texas and Antarctica--memories of which still made Dana shiver, especially at night--had led to their reinstatement. 

Opening the door, she found Mulder's desk in complete disarray. Papers and files were scattered everywhere, a slide machine sat in the eye of the storm. Picking up his jacket from the back of his chair, Scully turned to the backroom. 

"Mulder?" she called. 

"Mph," a voice replied. Mulder appeared from the room with a thick file grasped between his teeth, and carrying a box of slides. 

Taking the file from him, Scully arched an eyebrow. "Dare I ask what's going on?" 

Mulder gave her a crooked smile as she started to thumb through the papers. "Heard of the 'Vampire Mystery'?" 

Scully looked up. "You're not serious?" 

"Scully, when are you ever going to learn? I'm always serious." 

Mulder turned down the lights, then parked himself on the edge of his desk. Loading a slide, an image flashed up on the wall. It was the corpse of a young man lying in a rubbish-strewn alley. 

"It all began about a month ago," Mulder explained. Switching the slide, a close-up formed of the deceased's neck. Scully looked closer. Three large, curved puncture wounds stood out vividly against the pale skin. Immediately, her medical training kicked in. 

"The lascerations could have been made by any sharp instrument," she argued. 

Mulder held up a finger. "Ah! But do sharp instruments do this?" 

The slide clicked to show the body had completely disintegrated. Scully turned to look at Mulder. "How did that happen?" 

Mulder held up another file. She took it and quickly scanned the report. 

"The coroner has no scientific explanation," he told her with a hint of smugness. "Each body began to decay after a few hours." 

"And you seriously believe this is the work of a vampire?" Scully asked, sarcasm heavy in her voice. 

"No," he laughed softly, "the press latched onto the vampire idea. Supernatural at the very least," Mulder replied, pointing to the files on his desk. "Each of these so-called unexplained cases share one common denominator." 

"Which is?" 

"The victims all attended Winterborne School for Boys," he told her, pointing out a brochure attached to the files. 

"Albany, New York," she read, then sighed as she tried to reason with him. "Mulder, not to add to the clich, but do you realize how many crimes are committed each year in New York alone?" 

"Actually, there were more documented murders in Idaho last year," he said, one-upping her. 

She decided to play along. "And you really think the homicides of two former students qualify as X-Files?" 

"You could say that," Mulder smiled. Scully had a feeling of what was coming. "Two nights ago, there was another mysterious death. Right here in the good ol' capitol." 

Scully continued to flip through the coroner's report. "And like the other bodies this one decomposed within a matter of a few hours?" 

"Not this time." Mulder shut off the slide projector, grabbed his jacket and leaped off the desk. "I've asked them to put this one on ice for you." 

"Let me guess," she sighed. 

He grinned with his typical boyish enthusiasm. "Suit up for an autopsy, Scully." 

* * *

Scully was grateful to Mulder for driving her to the morgue, but she'd have been a damn sight more grateful if her partner wasn't acting even more mysterious than usual. 

Along the busy streets, clogged with tourists, she had explained that there could be a variety of medical reasons for the bodies's sudden decomposition. 

"Come on, Scully," he'd smirked. "You can't tell me this case doesn't excite you a little." 

"Mulder, I just don't see why the deaths of these three former students should justify an investigation in the X-Files," she'd said, giving him a curious look. "What aren't you telling me?" 

Instead of drowning her in outrageous theories of three-headed aliens abducting teenage school boys for probing experiments, he'd simply smiled, reached forward, and turned on the radio. 

She just shook her head, then a sudden horrifying thought popped into her mind. "And you'd better not say it's that Mexican goat-sucker!" 

She was rewarded with a Mulder-chuckle, and that was it. Exactly why he wasn't being very forthcoming with information she couldn't tell. After all their cases together, this procedure had become old hat. 

Upon arrival, Mulder had decided to wait outside and work on a large bag of sunflower seeds. 

Dressed in a smock and donning a surgeon's face mask, Scully turned on the lights in the chilly morgue. A slab had been made ready for her autopsy, and all she needed to do was retrieve the body from the storage locker. 

Moving toward it, she had to confess to being intrigued by this case's method of death--which was probably an acidic chemical exposure, judging by the rapid decomposition. 

Releasing the latch, the metal door swung open. She pulled out the wrapped body and unzipped the bag. Icy air evaporated in an instant as the body was exposed to air. 

The corpse of Jackson Sutton had been perfectly preserved by the subzero temperatures. His skin was gray and mottled and the whole body looked curiously frail. Beginning her exam, Scully talked up toward the recording device. 

"Signs of deterioration are almost nil," she observed. The body had been completely drained of blood, she mentally noted, understanding now why the overzealous newspapers had latched onto the idea of modern vampire killings. 

"Unlike the other victims, this body seems to be..." Scully stopped as she noticed the large, oval bruise around the base of the neck. 

Reaching out with a gloved hand, she began to examine the strange mark. "This man exhibits the same bruising around the base of the neck as the other victims," she continued. "Although it could have been made by the strike of a blunt instrument, the neck is not broken and I can not find anything to indicate... Wait a minute..." 

Scully stopped as something caught her eye. "There appears to be three puncture marks, no," she corrected, "claw marks inside the bruised area." 

Holding a penlight, she aimed it at the wound. Scully jerked back as the light penetrated straight through. It was a hollow shell, like the body of a fly that had been drained dry by a spider. 

Staring unbelievingly at the corpse, she reached forward to press one of the deep scratches. She suddenly gasped and snatched her hand away as the entire body began to collapse before her eyes. 

She reflexively jumped when Mulder opened the door and poked his head inside. "What's the verdict?" he asked, cheerily munching on a sunflower seed. Noticing Scully's out-of-character stunned look, he sat the bag down and came forward. "What's wrong?" 

Scully turned back to examine what was left of the body. "It's as though something has literally sucked the life out of him," she explained, a little breathessly. 

Mulder moved beside her in fascinated horror. "And left just a husk?" 

"Yes." She nodded. "You knew this was going to happen, didn't you?" she accused, wanting to sock him in the arm for not warning her first. 

He held up his hands. "Guilty as charged. This particular aspect was left out of the official coroner reports." Taking a scalpel from the tray, Mulder started to sift through the ash-like remains. "I'd say that whatever had a go at this poor guy lives by ingesting the binding energy of organic compounds." 

"Such as flesh," Scully said, trying to process her partner's theory. 

He glanced up and nodded silently. 

Scully rested her gloved hands on the edge of the table. "I'm going to run a chemical analysis on the remains," she announced. "This could easily be the work of a toxic chemical substance or even an acid ingested or injected into the body." 

Mulder straightened to his full impressive height. "And I'm sure our friend here just sat back while someone shot him full of acid," he retorted smartly. 

"Mulder, we don't know the circumstances behind his death. He could have been knocked unconscious before the toxins were introduced," she argued, then added, "or there could have been a struggle." 

This instantly grabbed Mulder's attention and his eyes practically lit up under the phospherescent lights. "Why do you say that?" he asked excitedly. 

"Just before the body collapsed, I found three deep marks on the back of the neck." 

"Like the other victims?" 

"More than that," she continued, taking a breath. "Mulder, they looked exactly like claw marks." 

Mulder grinned. "And I'll take Supernatural Deaths for one thousand, Alex." 

Scully sighed. "I want to find out what's causing this, Mulder." She took off her gloves and added with determination, "Before any one else gets hurt." 

And that was all Mulder needed to hear. 

* * *

The main office of WSR Graphics, Crystal City's only computer graphics firm, was a hive of bustling activity. One person stood out amongst the other employees dressed in business attire: Faith Matthews wearing dark jeans, a green suede jacket, a two-sizes-too-big open neon blue shirt over his white tee, and carrying a large Starbuck's cup of coffee, walked with his boss, Mr. William Radcliffe, discussing a forthcoming designer's meeting. 

"Don't be late," Radcliffe reminded him as Faith slid into his work cubicle. 

"Have I ever let you down?" Faith asked, wearing an innocent smile. 

"Faith, do you really want me to answer that?" his boss replied, slightly amused. 

Faith shook his head. "You charmer you." 

Shrugging out of his jacket and sitting in a gray swivel chair, he powered up his computer and took a sip of his double mocha. As a mountain of e-mail started its usual download, Faith started to sort through the multi-colored post-it notes he'd left from last night. 

  * Date with Luke tomorrow at 7PM. 
  * Graphic meeting, don't forget or big boss will blow a fuse. 
  * Call Lily about setting up image refining program. 
  * Finish paper for Eurocentric history. 



Faith stuck each of them to the desk next to an array of small, scented candles; crystals of every shape and size, ranging from rose-quartz to obsidian; and a WSR clock. As he popped a CD into the computer, Faith wished he could've gotten an extra three hours of sleep in this morning. Juggling work, college, and Luke--yummy!--he was seriously sleep-deprived. 

"Hey, Faith," came Maggie Shelton's bubbly voice over his cubicle wall. 

He turned round and threw her a crooked smile. Maggie was his closest friend ever since he'd moved to Virginia, and was the only other person beside him who treated every day as "casual Friday." Today she was showing off a tie-dyed T-shirt covering every spectrum of the rainbow along with a pair of bleached jeans. 

"Hi, Mags," he greeted her back. 

"Have you seen the paper?" she playfully asked. 

"Not yet," Faith confessed. 

She moved inside, colored beads jangling in her sandy blond hair. "Have a look at your design," she said as she threw open the newspaper. 

"Let me see," Faith replied, full of excitement. He snatched the newspaper out of her hands and scanned the article. It was his first design to be used in a WSR advertisement. 

Maggie nudged his shoulder. "I think Radcliffe's gonna ask you to create the design for Steeltrap at the meeting," she confided. 

"Solid!" Faith beamed with pride. Steeltrap was their biggest client to date and the money would certainly help with his college loans. 

He glanced back at the paper, and froze. On the opposite page was the obituary section, informing the world of Jackson Sutton's death and adding where and when the funeral would be held. 

The obituary read in bold type:  
**JACKSON MICHAEL SUTTON**  
Funeral Services will be held today at Memorial Cemetery, 10:00AM. 

Maggie was about to tell him who she'd seen kissing beside the Coke machine when Mr. Radcliffe emerged from his office and spotted Faith reading the paper. 

"Uh-oh," Maggie squeaked and scampered back to work. 

Faith, however, was completely mesmerized by the news of Jackson's death and that his funeral was being held in less than an hour. 

"Faith," Radcliffe called, "did you find that disk?" When no response from his youngest employee was forthcoming, Radcliffe tried again, moving up closer to him. "Faith?" He noticed where the newspaper was opened to and folded his arms. "How's that for a surprise?" 

"Yeah," Faith replied distantly, keeping his eye on the obituary, "it's on your desk." He dropped the paper, grabbed his jacket, and walked past his boss. "I'm sorry. I have to go," he said. 

Radcliffe checked his Rolex. "Your break's not till noon. Faith?" 

But Faith was already gone. 

* * *

Mulder had come to one definite conclusion in this case: Jackson Sutton had been a very popular person. 

Memorial Cemetery Funeral Home was so packed with mourners that both he and Scully had to stand at the back of the room. Scully waited patiently while he stood impatiently and couldn't wait for the minister to finish his sermon. Although Scully thought it was a bad idea, Mulder was anxious to question Jackson's family and friends about the events leading up to his strange death. 

Scully's tests had all come back negative on chemical toxins and acidic elements. If it weren't for the morbidness of the situation, Mulder would have placed a bet with her on the results. He'd already scored twenty bucks off of her from the last Lakers game, and that wasn't the sucker bet that this was. 

No, he'd known all along what Scully would find: absolutely nothing. Questioning Jackson Sutton's family was just a formality. It would help to learn about his activities the day of his death, but Mulder was certain the answers he needed were at Winterborne School in New York. That would be their next stop--that is if he could wrangle the travel okay from A.D. Walter Skinner. 

When the service came to an end, the mourners stood, shaking hands, crying, and people moved over and began to pay their respects to the family. 

"Come on," Mulder said quietly to Scully, both of them getting in the back of the receiving line. 

Several feet ahead of them stood Faith, wearing a sad, haunted expression. He felt awkward and nervous attending Jackson's funeral and even though he was wrapped up in his jacket, Faith couldn't shake the chill coursing through his body. Memories of Winterborne were flooding back, memories he'd shut out a year ago. 

When the headmaster, Doctor Holywell, had interrupted Nick Jameson's frightening ceremony Faith had been relieved, then later horrified when his parents had been called. Their disappointment had hurt him deeply, still did, in fact, especially after... 

The line moved forward and Faith brushed away sudden tears. Sighing deeply, he couldn't help but wonder why this had been a closed casket service. Had Jackson been in a tragic accident? Having cut all ties with Winterborne, Faith had no idea that Jackson and his family had moved to Virginia. Hell, he still didn't know what he was doing here himself. 

He shifted over anxiously to extend his sympathies to the first family member in the receiving line. 

Amanda, Jackson's older sister, tearfully looked up to greet the next mourner. 

"I'm so sorry for your loss," Faith said as he shook her trembling hand. 

"Thank you," she replied, her voice breaking. Faith started to leave, but Amanda continued, "How did you know Jackson? From work?" 

"We," Faith hesitated, "we were at school together." 

"Winterborne?" Amanda dabbed at her tear-stained cheeks with a lace handkerchief. "Have you heard what happened to his best friends?" 

"No," he replied, completely thrown by her question. 

"The same awful thing happened to Nick and Toby," she told him, choking on a deep-throated sob. "I just hope they catch whoever did this to them." 

Something akin to panic filled Faith's eyes. "I-I'm sorry," he quickly said, "my condolences." 

"Thank you." 

Excusing himself, Faith moved away down the line. He was in such a hurry to depart that he barely noticed the tall man and short woman in dark trenchcoats. Faith pushed himself between them, inadvertently brushing against the handsome, lanky man. 

"Ah!" Mulder suddenly cried out, clutching his head in pain. 

Scully was by his side in an instant. "Mulder, what is it?" she asked, concerned. 

"I-I don't know," he admitted. He strained against the crushing pain behind his eyes to catch a glimpse of the young man leaving the funeral home. "That guy..." 

Scully turned quickly, her red hair tossing about her head from the suddenness of the move, to see who her distressed partner was talking about. "What guy?" There was no one there; she only saw the large glass door swinging closed. 

"The one who just_" Mulder started to say, but winced from the overwhelming pain. He could hear voices shouting in his head. A powerful vision, like a fragmented waking dream, filled his mind. 

Tinged in blood red, images swirled, jerked and coalesced off broken shards of mirror. He could see a closed door... Raised voices were coming from behind it... 

  * 'No! Don't ask me to do this again. I can't!' A woman pleaded. 
  * A hand reached for the door knob... 



Suddenly, Mulder was filled with fear. 

  * 'What's going on?' A boy asked. 



And like the flash from a camera, the startling vision ended. Mulder's stomach suddenly heaved with nausea, and a rush of dizziness made his head spin. He gasped and doubled over. 

"Mulder? Mulder!" Scully called anxiously. She knelt down to help him stand up. He looked around, dazed and suddenly feeling very lost. "Are you all right?" she asked, helping him into a chair. 

Jackson's family and the rest of the mourners were gaping at the scene. Was this man a dear friend who couldn't accept Jackson's death? many wondered. 

"Wh-what happened?" Mulder asked, still feeling the intense pain behind his eyes. 

Scully ignored the hushed, murmured conversations going on around them and concentrated on Mulder. She lifted his eyelids and was surprised to find them bloodshot and brimming with tears. His heart rate was severly elevated and his entire body was shaking. She'd only seen him like this once before; that frightening day she'd found him sitting in a scalding hot shower... 

"Mulder, try to tell me what happened," she gently coaxed him as she ran a hand over his cheek. 

He struggled to form words. In the back of his mind he could still hear the voices, echoing and incoherent. 

"I'm gonna get you to a hospital." Scully pulled out her cell phone. 

"Scully, wait." Mulder held up a hand to stop her from dialing when the sickening sensations began to fade. He took a couple of deep breaths and sat up slowly. "I'm okay." 

"One minute you're fine and the next you're in agony? I don't like it," she said, more sharply than she intended. 

Mulder wiped a sheen of sweat from his brow and took another deep breath as his head cleared. He lay back in the white folding chair and stared into the shadows of the ceiling. 

Just as quickly as they came, the voices stopped. 

A baby cried and a lonely tear trickled down Mulder's cheek. 

* * *

**PART THREE: THE DEVIL OF WINTERBORNE**

"No. Absolutely not." 

Assistant Director Walter Sergei Skinner had to force himself not to stand while he forbade Mulder's request for a trip to New York. He watched the younger man sigh irritably and visibly squirm in the chair next to Scully, who gave him a knowing raised eyebrow. 

Skinner's deep brown eyes danced between his two agents, and, as always, came back to settle on the maverick who threatened to wear the vinyl clean off his chair. 

He had more than enough reasons for denying the trip: Mulder had blown the expense account so out of budget that the boys in accounts could no longer make head nor tail out of the reports: lost cell phones, wrecked or missing rental cars, endangering other agents, and just generally pissing off the powers that be. 

But Skinner's most important, valid reason--albeit one he could not say aloud--was his concern for Mulder. 

Earlier that morning Scully had entered his office, a deeply worried frown creasing her delicate features, and had confided in him the disturbing incident at the Memorial Cemetery funeral home. After blacking out Mulder had awakened some time later, fevered and, for several moments, unsure of where he was and what he was doing. 

Pale and still a little shaky, Mulder straightened out his jacket and stood up to address the stern-looking A.D. 

"With respect, sir," he began, his eyes darkening as he argued, "this isn't a pleasure trip to the Big Apple." His analytical mind quickly decided to get right to the facts before this became a shouting match. "Scully and I need to find out what connects these recent murders, which all lead back to Winterborne School." 

Skinner sat back and was peering at him, all the while holding a pencil between his fingers. Mulder, in his slightly rumpled suit, had the look of someone on the verge of a nasty flu bug. Skinner's first instinct was to order Mulder home immediately. 

Then, just for a moment, Walter Skinner pictured a sick Mulder wearing fluffy white socks and all bundled up in a terrycloth robe. The image was so cuddelsome that Skinner had to fight to control the urge to reach out and hug the agent until he popped. 

To Mulder, a quiet Skinner translated into a thoughtful Skinner and he decided that this was the excellent moment to strike home his advantage. 

"And we need to find out before any one else gets hurt," Mulder finished. 

Heartbeats of silence went by, then Skinner's eyes flashed to Scully. "What are your thoughts, Agent Scully?" he asked in his surliest growl. 

Lacing her fingers, Scully leaned forward. "Sir, I will admit that there are several unknown factors in this case that deserve investigating." 

"But does it warrant both of you traveling?" 

Mulder, completely taken aback by Skinner's question and sudden sincere tone, blinked at him. "What do you mean?" 

At this, Skinner sighed deeply and sat forward, resting his large, muscular arms on his desk. "Are you up for this, agent?" 

"Yes, more than up for it, sir." Mulder shot a "tattle-tale" glare at Scully, who completely ignored it. 

She folded her arms and fixed Mulder with a skeptical gaze. "You're not well, Mulder," she calmly told him. "We still don't know what caused your attack. You should have taken my recommendation for a hospital visit." 

"She's right," Skinner agreed. "You should rest, Mulder." Even as he said it the vision of Mulder sleeping peacefully and all wrapped up flashed back into his mind. 

Mulder sighed. He couldn't take both of them ganging up on him. "I've been really pushing it lately and not getting enough sleep," he explained. "The strain must have finally caught up with me." 

"You never sleep, Mulder," Scully pointed out. 

"And you're always pushing it," Skinner interjected. 

"Crazy man talking," Mulder interrupted, stepping forward. "Scully I know you pride yourself in being the voice of common sense, but can I have a little support here?" 

He appreciated Scully's advice and, yes, the incident had him very worried. He was certain the sudden attack was more than his body reacting to physical and emotional stress. He had his own suspicions, though he couldn't explain why he felt that the incident somehow tied in with this case. The sooner it was solved, the sooner he found out exactly what was going on. 

"I'm fine," he added to Scully. Turning back to look at Skinner he added, "the picture of health," and beat twice on his chest with both fists. 

Skinner studied Mulder's face as he argued. He traced the curve of Mulder's plump bottom lip with his eyes, wondering--not for the first time--what it would taste like if he were to boldly lick it. Wondering what the younger man's reaction would be if he were to nibble there. Skinner jerked his gaze away. His cheeks burned, grateful that Mulder couldn't read his thoughts. 

"Do you buy that, Agent Scully?" Skinner frowned. 

"I don't know." She raised an ironic eyebrow. "I'd like to believe it." 

"Well, I'd certainly feel a hell of a lot better when and if these murders are solved," Mulder finished. 

Skinner sighed so deeply that a few papers on his desk actually ruffled. He'd learned a long time ago that there was simply no arguing with Fox Mulder when he was determined about something. He was just like a dog with a bone. Sometimes Skinner wondered what Mulder's chances in the marines would've been. Not very good, he thought. 

Scully swiftly got on her feet, deciding it was best to back up her partner. "I'm confident there's a rational explanation," she said, her voice cool and calm. "But it would help to have a lead to go on." 

Mulder pounced. "And Winterborne is our best bet." 

"All right," the A.D. reluctantly agreed. He stood up and with hands on hips said, "A quick trip to New York and back. No exceptions." 

"Thank you, sir," replied Mulder, feeling as if he'd checked Skinner in the latest round in their on-going chess match. 

Walter Skinner watched them go, peering longingly after Mulder through his wirerims. Why did he have to make things so difficult? he wondered as he started to fill out the necessary travel paperwork. 

* * *

Their plane ride to The City That Never Sleeps had taken what seemed like no time at all. Mulder, still steamed at Scully for ratting him out to Skinner, and confused over the incident in the funeral home, had engrossed himself in the case files and what they knew so far. He'd drifted off into a rather fitful sleep on the way, causing Scully to check on him every so often as indistinct words escaped his half-open lips. 

Upon arrival the two agents rented a sleek, silver Lexus with Mulder insisting on taking the driver's seat. Try as Mulder might his mind remained fixed on his strange "attack." He'd experienced the same waking nightmare some time ago when trying to remember an event he'd blocked out. This couldn't be the same thing, could it? No, he was certain it was related to their case. His head ached to even think about it. 

While Scully read over the Winterborne School literature Mulder had brought along, he bobbed along singing an out-of-tune version of "The Boy From New York City." 

Winterborne School loomed like an enormous vision from a British gothic novel. From a distance it resembled a castle seated on a hill. Jutting shadows of tall spires, dark chimneys, a tower and statuary guarding the gated front entrance. The grounds were lush, green and immaculate. 

"What an odd looking school," Scully commented. 

"It's an odd sorta school," Mulder dryly remarked, once more indicating to his partner that he knew far more about their case than he was letting on. 

Having contacted headmaster Doctor Wilfred Holywell before leaving Washington, Mulder and Scully found the plump, jovial man waiting for them and well prepared. 

Mulder strode forward to shake the man's hand. "I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder, this is my partner, Dana Scully," he said, nodding at his partner who huddled in her long dark coat against the chilly air. 

"Right on time." The headmaster smiled as he tapped his gold watch. "Very good, very good. I gathered up all the information you requested on our former students and last year's unfortunate incident." 

As the older man slid a manila file into Mulder's eager hand, Scully glanced at her partner. "What incident, Mulder?" She hated it when he kept her out of the loop. 

He briefly looked up from the file. "I asked Doctor Holywell if anything strange had happened when the deceased students were here," he told her as if that explained everything. 

"And had there?" she wondered, peering over Mulder's arm at the file in his hand. It was a list of names and addresses. Three of them belonged to their homicides while two others were completely unfamiliar. 

"Oh my yes," Holywell replied in a hushed voice. "Why don't I give you a tour of the grounds?" he offered. 

Mulder nodded, off in his own world, and Scully realized that the Headmaster probably wanted to keep some scandal from listening ears. 

"About a year ago the students on the list you hold were caught performing a sance," he explained matter-of-factly. 

"A sance," repeated Scully, shooting Mulder a look. 

Mulder, however, diverted the subject. "Parker McCoy," he read from the typed list. "Is this still his address?" 

Holywell nodded. "I believe so." 

Mulder's bright hazel eyes scanned further. "What about the last one, Faith Matthews?" 

Glancing up, Holywell seemed very excited to talk about this student. "Ah, yes. An exceptional mind, top honors in every class." He paused to think. "Now he works for some computer firm or other, in Washington D.C., I believe." 

Top honors but working for a computer company? This didn't seem right, Scully thought. "He's not attending college?" she asked, curiously. 

"Actually, I'm not sure," Holywell replied, thoughtfully. "You see, his parents worked hard to send him to Winterborne for the best possible education," he explained, rather proudly. 

"I'm sure," Scully piped in. 

"Sadly, his parents were killed in an airplane accident the week before graduation." He shook his head. "Tragic business. Matthews could have had a promising future if he'd only avoided getting mixed up with Jameson and his friends." 

"Could you please elaborate, sir?" asked Mulder, pulling them back to the reason they were here. 

Holywell handed him another folder, which Mulder promptly opened. It was full of polaroid photographs of a dorm room. 

"Nick Jameson was always a strange one." Holywell sniffed. "Taking up that wretched tradition of dabbling with spirits." 

"Spirits?" pressed Mulder, his eyes glittering ravenously. 

"You mean the sance?" added Scully. 

"Black magic, mostly." 

"Black magic?" Mulder repeated, thinking he was getting somewhere at last. "Are you talking about the inexplicable phenomena within the school?" 

Oh no, Scully thought. Here we go again. I should have known. 

The headmaster sighed. "Ever since that little incident, the school's had nothing but trouble. It's all there," Holywell told him. Before he had a chance to continue a student hurried from the arched entry and whispered something in the headmaster's ear. "Thank you, Eric." Holywell turned back to the two agents. "It seems I must leave you," he said. "Perhaps we can schedule the tour for later?" 

"Yes," Mulder quickly put in. "Sir, can we keep these files?" 

"Of course." Holywell hurried away back inside the school. 

Scully restrained the urge to smack her partner. She knew he'd been keeping something important from her. As soon as Holywell was out of earshot, she said, "Are you going to explain or do I have to guess?" 

With a winning, almost sneaky, grin, Mulder nodded at the school behind them. "Winterborne School is famous for many things: an outstanding educational system, a winning soccer team, and the fact that it's haunted." 

"Mulder_" Scully began to protest, but he quickly continued. 

"The Devil of Winterborne: the spirit of a psychotic professor who still haunts the halls," he explained with glee. "Elijah Fetchingham." He chuckled softly. "Even his name, 'fetch', is an archaic word meaning goblin." 

"And I suppose you knew all about this because there was a nice thick file buried in the X-Files?" 

"He jumped to his death," Mulder said, pointing at the tall tower rising ominously toward the sky. "Everything I've ever come across concerning Winterborne indicates that he was driven to jump by some force." 

"School lunches?" A slight smile played around Scully's lips. He must definitely be feeling better, she thought with relief. "So you think we're dealing with a poltergeist?" she asked. 

Mulder, however, was not listening as the contents of the file had once more grabbed his attention. His face lit up with first confusion then a new excitement. "Scully, this symbol," he said, indicating a picture of a floor painted in the shape of a blood red eye. "I've seen it somewhere before." 

Peering at it, Scully asked, "Where?" Silence. "Don't evade the question, Mulder. I want to know, what do you think is going on?" She took a breath. "Even if it were a ghost, which I don't believe it is, it could not do that amount of damage to the bodies. Are you forgetting those claw marks?" 

"No, I haven't," he finally said, "and, yes, I think you're right." 

"Good." She blinked. "Right about what?" 

Before she could get an answer, her partner suddenly exclaimed: "Scully, look!" 

"What is it?" 

Mulder flashed another photo under her nose. It was a standard color school picture of a rather strikingly handsome young man with light brown hair. 

"That's the guy I saw at the funeral home yesterday." 

Scully studied the name written beneath the picture. "Faith Matthews," she read. When she looked back up at Mulder he was wincing as if he were suffering the same attack she'd witnessed two days ago. She reached out to hold onto his arm. "Mulder, are you all right?" 

Dazed, he shook his head and answered, "What? Yeah, come on, let's go." 

Scully had to practically run to keep up with him as her partner hurried back to their rental car. "Mulder, wait! What's going on?" 

"This is more complex than I could imagine. I think those boys conjured up something that was too terrible for them to handle," he told her as he unlocked the doors. 

Just as he started to slide into the driver's seat, Scully caught up with him and beat him to it. "I think you'd better let me drive," she told him. 

Resigned, Mulder passed her the car keys and got into the passenger side. Once inside, Scully started the engine, moved the plush seat up, and fastened her seat belt. 

Catching her breath and, having had time to process what he'd said, she turned and asked him, "Mulder, are you suggesting they summoned a demon or a malevolent spirit that is now hunting them down one-by-one?" 

Mulder rubbed at his temples before replying, "That's exactly what I'm saying, Scully, and we need to find the others before whatever's out there tracks them down first." 

Pulling out of the school gates, and past the guardian statues, Scully drove back onto the main road. "The odds of a sance successfully contacting a so-called ghost are so stratospheric as to be practically impossible, Mulder," she argued. "There's never been any substantial proof." 

"Scully," Mulder began wearing a crooked grin, "never tell me the odds." 

* * *

Having changed into a more comfortable pair of jeans and a Union Jack T-shirt Faith sat at a little desk inside his loft trying to contact Parker through an operator. 

"Yes, ah, hi, I'm trying to reach a Parker McCoy," Faith told the man on the other end of the cordless. He waited for a couple of minutes, then listened. "What? No listing at all? Thanks." Hanging up, he sat the phone down with a sigh of, "for nothing." 

Scared and worried ever since he'd left the funeral home, Faith had tried everything he could think of to reach his ex-boyfriend and all of his computer searches had turned up zilch. It was as if Parker had disappeared off the face of the earth, Faith thought morbidly. 

His research had turned up one grim fact: Nick, Toby and Jackson had all died within three months ... starting exactly one year to the date that freak-fest ceremony had taken place. The scariest thing was he'd started having nightmares about it. It was all a huge, wild coincidence, right? Somehow Faith couldn't convince himself. 

Faith tried to shake the horrible thought away and ran his fingers through his hair. So many things had happened since that fateful night. He'd graduated from Winterborne and offered the job in Virginia with a little help from his friend Lily. Faith wanted to do so much more but, right now, graphics design was paying the bills so he couldn't complain. 

With a small sigh he made his way across his loft, a totally hip, urban space with exposed duct work and red cement floors, to get a glass of juice from the kitchen. Like his cubicle at work Faith had stamped his own unique personality on the place. Faith loved the loft's grittiness which bridged the homesickness he felt for Newark. 

Returning to the desk his eyes sadly locked onto a photograph of his parents resting beside his computer. They were gone now. Their deaths had made him so angry and the anger and sadness had strengthened him. He'd wanted to make them so proud of him, the hard work he was doing, not leave them with the memory of that terrible night. 

He so did not want to think about it. Faith picked up the photograph and whispered, "Oh, ma. Please help me forget. Please." 

It still didn't make any sense. Something was going on, something scary and weird. 

Faith was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't hear the light tapping on his front door. It opened a crack and Luke Palmer poked his shaggy blond head inside. 

"Faith?" he called. 

No answer. 

Venturing further inside, Luke made his way up a couple of steps and approached his boyfriend. 

"Hey, Faith?" 

With a barely perceptible nervous jump, Faith looked up. "Fine," he answered, distracted. 

"That's good you're fine," Luke replied with a knee-quaking smile. "Did you forget about our date?" 

Faith sat the picture down and peered up at Luke's handsome, unshaven face. "At seven, right?" he asked, slipping off his reading glasses. 

Luke tapped at his watch. "Fifteen after." 

"Oh." 

"Faith, are you okay?" 

"Me?" Faith asked, getting up and moving around. "Yeah, why?" 

Luke followed him past a pair of large picture windows. "I don't know," Luke admitted. "You're just quieter than usual." 

Faith cringed inwardly. He was wiggin' jumpy and liable to scare Luke off. 

"That's me," Faith joked lightly in an attempt to change the subject, "always running my mouth off like a juke box." 

Luke didn't know what to think. He'd rarely seen Faith shaken up. It it were any other guy Luke wouldn't bother, but Faith was more than just a casual lay. Luke had been attracted to this street smart guy with a wild streak a mile long the moment he set eyes on him. It was an adventure knowing Faith because you never knew what would happen next. Like moths to a flame, weird things just seemed to gravitate toward him. Sometimes this infuriated Luke's sensibilities. Luke didn't understand mysticism and all that witchy stuff Faith was into, but he couldn't deny that he wanted to be a part of Faith's crazy life. 

Faith paused to flick a switch and his speckled mauve lamps with their stylin' upside down shades brightened up the room. 

Luke reached over and pulled Faith toward him. "Don't go changing," he said, trailing a finger down Faith's nose, "because, you Faith, are an original." 

Suddenly all of his worries melted away like lemon drops. "Aww," Faith said, smiling. "Score bonus points for you, Mister G.Q." 

He broke away and walked over to his closet and picked out a dark blue jacket. Luke, sitting down on Faith's comfortable double bed, watched a Native American dream catcher sway under the breeze of a ceiling fan. 

"Do you wanna tell me what happened?" he asked pointedly. 

Faith sat beside him on the bed. "No. It's nothing," he assured Luke. 

"You sure?" 

"Can we talk about it later?" 

"Of course." 

Leaning forward, Luke pressed a soft kiss to Faith's pouty, candy sweet lips. Faith sat back wearing a sly grin. 

"You know what?" he asked, playfully. "I'm suddenly jonesing for a night out." 

"Well, alright then!" Grasping his hand, Luke pulled Faith toward the door. Faith grabbed his house keys from a table, flicking on another lamp in the process. 

After the door was locked, the silence that swept through the loft was broken when Faith's telephone started to ring and the answering machine obediently picked up: "Hi, it's Faith. You know what to do." 

"Faith, I need to see you," Parker's nervous voice said. "Something's happening..." 

There was a rustle at the window. With a loud screech a large, black crow came to rest on the sill outside. Within the empty loft the lamps flickered briefly.. 

* * *

An hour later Faith and Luke were dancing on the floor of Michele's, the hottest night spot in Crystal City and the place where they'd first met. The club was hopping with a hot DJ lighting up the place. The song came to an end, the crowd cheered, then Faith and Luke drifted over to a table and sat down. Catching his breath, Luke couldn't help but notice that Faith still looked distracted and distant. 

"Do you want to go someplace else?" he asked above the chatter. 

"Huh?" Faith came back down to earth. "No, I like it here." He narrowed his eyes at Luke. "Why?" 

Luke reached out and gripped Faith's hand. "Well, we've been dating for about a month now and I think I know when something's bothering you." He glanced up and called to a passing waitress, "Uh, hey, can we get a couple of bottled coolers?" 

"Sure," she answered, jotting the order. 

Before she could leave Faith said, "Make mine a Pepsi, please? Thanks." 

The waitress noted the order and returned to the bar. 

"Not in the mood for something stronger?" asked Luke. 

Faith started to absently fold a blue cocktail napkin on the table. "I left my fake I.D. at home," he quietly replied. 

Luke smiled. "That's never stopped you before." 

True. But alchohol was the last thing on Faith's mind. 

"Faith?" Luke called. 

Realizing he'd space out again, Faith blushed with embarrassment. "And the weird behaviour award goes to..." he chuckled nervously. "I'm sorry, Luke." 

"Come on, Faith. You can tell me. What's wrong?" 

Faith took a deep breath. "I've just really been out of it ever since..." His voice trailed away. 

"Ever since what?" Luke asked gently. 

"All right, but you're gonna think I've completely lost it." Faith swallowed, knowing how strange this was going to sound. "Yesterday I went to a funeral for a guy I went to school with. I didn't really know him that well and I still don't know why I even went there." 

Luke leaned forward. "There's nothing wrong about that." 

"I haven't gotten to the freaky part yet," Faith said as he continued to play with the napkin. "I checked around and found out that two of his friends recently died in weird circumstances." He leaned in conspiratorially. "It couldn't be a coincidence. Now tell me that isn't scary." 

Luke sighed. "C'mon, I wouldn't read anything else into it." 

The waitress brought them their drinks, allowing Faith to lean back and try to end the painful topic. Luke, though, caring, wanted to know more. 

"Here you are," the waitress said as she sat the drinks down. 

"Thanks," said Faith. 

"You're welcome." And she moved away with mincing steps. 

Luke rested his arms on the table. "So that still doesn't explain why this keeps worrying you." 

"Well, I knew them... and, so... I don't know. I guess it's just really shaken me up." 

Faith paused. Go on, tell him about the sance and the Stephen King freakiness that ensued. Yeah right. If he wanted Luke to think he was certifiable. I don't think so. 

"Because of your folks?" Luke suggested, knowing what a raw nerve this was for him. 

"Yeah," he lied guiltily. "That's why I went to the funeral today. I just felt like I had to." Feeling like a complete idiot, Faith heaved a sigh and held up his glass. "Great, fantastic. I'm rambling." 

Luke, touched, shut him up by leaning in and giving him a kiss. Faith responded, then pulled back slightly, allowing his vulnerability to show. 

"Don't hurt me, okay?" he whispered. "I don't think I can handle any more right now." 

Luke's answer was another kiss, deeper, meaningful. Faith accepted it, returning the passion. They parted, staring into each other's eyes. Faith's were ablaze. 

"Come on," Faith stood up, "let's go." 

Luke hurriedly tossed a twenty on the table. As the couple left, the bill brushed against the napkin Faith had been playing with, which was now in a perfect origama shape of a bumblebee. 

* * *

"Isn't this wicked?" Faith grinned boyishly. "Something about this place brings out the romantic in me." 

"Did you just say 'romantic'?" Luke's blue eyes twinkled with amusement as he looked pointedly at Faith. "I knew you weren't getting out enough." 

True, Faith thought. Could weeks of work and cramming for exams cause delusions of romance in the romantically and sexually deprived? Deprived, definitely ... Delusional, not. 

Faith's gaze swept the expansive city park. The picnic table they had chosen was his favorite spot near a pavilion and beside that a trail leading down to a sparkling riverbank. 

The moon drifted in and out of sight behind floating clouds while leaves rustled in the warm breeze. Faith breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly. The fresh night air and the tranquility of the park helped to soothe away his troubled thoughts. 

Sitting atop the table, Faith dropped his head back, gazing up at the stars. "Look at the stars. They're so beautiful." He sighed wistfully. "They make me feel so lonely sometimes." 

Luke nuzzled Faith's neck. "How do they make you feel now?" 

"They make me feel ... wild." 

He leaned across and planted a soft, warm kiss upon Luke's lips. He pushed his worries to the back of his mind, wanting to concentrate on the here and now. Faith's hands wandered down the other man's muscled chest, his trailing fingers searching to unbutton Luke's pants. 

Luke gasped in surprise. "Aren't you afraid that we're gonna get caught?" he asked, glancing around the empty park, then through a clump of trees at a derelict warehouse across the road. 

"I like a little bit of danger," Faith said, seductively slipping out of his jacket and falling back on top of the table. 

Not needing any more incentive, and already majorly turned on, Luke covered Faith's mouth with his own. He reached down and explored the hardening crotch of Faith's jeans. His fingers fumbled with the buttons and, before long, he was sliding both jeans and boxer briefs down Faith's thighs. Feeling the rush one could only receive from excitation, they were soon peeling each other's clothing away. 

Kissing deeply and passionately they were both grateful for the warm summer night air drifting over their naked bodies. 

Luke couldn't help but give a long glance at what had to be one of the most beautiful male bodies he had ever seen. His right hand stirred, moving very slowly over Faith's chest, then across his side and then down his muscled abdomen to rest on the full uncircumsised penis sticking out before him. 

Faith arched his back with a low moan, brushing his flesh against his lover's; simply enjoying how good it felt to be near him. Luke caught his cock and wrapped his large hand around it. 

With the dim light of the moon shining through gaps in the clouds Faith could see his rather large erection. Faith moved his hands, letting them both rest on Luke's hips. Very slightly, he pulled the other man toward him, and he responded by turning on his side. 

Faith exhaled slowly and moved his hand to explore, wrapping it around Luke's rigid cock which he felt was wet with anticipation. 

Their free hands began to explore one another's flesh. Arms wrapped around one another, pressing their cocks together; their lips met, savoring the desire, closeness and feeling of freedom under the stars. 

Their kisses grew more and more passionate, and Faith's lips traced a path down to Luke's neck, caressing his way down his chest, and then to his stomach. Luke pulled on Faith's body, urging him to turn atop the table so that his mid-section was toward his face. 

Heart pounding with excitement, Faith's lips found the tip of Luke's penis, and he licked the crown very gently. Down below a hiss of appreciation escaped Luke's lips as his mouth wrapped around the head of Faith's cock. Faith then hungrily took more of him between his lips as he did the same, and soon they both engaged in a steady but tender sucking of one another. 

Deeper and deeper they went into each other's mouth's, until their noses were buried in one another's crotches. Faith felt a rising pleasure, knowing that it wouldn't be long before he reached the brink. Luke held on tight to him, moving his long wet tongue around Faith's shaft, intensifying the incredible feeling. 

At the same time Faith could feel his balls growing tighter, and he knew that Luke was getting close to a climax, too. Faith pulled him in closer, taking him all the way inside of his mouth. Then, suddenly, it happened: Luke came with a moan, his mouth still wrapped snugly around Faith. Unable to hold back, Faith's orgasm soon filled his exploding senses. 

Afterward, Faith caught his breath and turned his body around and softly kissed Luke for what seemed like forever. Their relationship had reached a new level; one that Faith welcomed. 

Some time later, when the kiss was finally broken, Faith and Luke--exhausted, but well sated--sat, fully dressed once more, on the picnic table gazing into each other's eyes. 

"So are all the guys as wild as you are back in New Jersey?" Luke wondered aloud. 

"Nah, I'm tame compared to the rest of them," laughed Faith. 

"Encore?" Luke suggested, arching his eyebrows. 

"Oh yeah." 

Faith held his look, he's not going anywhere, he thought. Then, Luke leaned in to kiss him. Sliding his arms beneath Luke's, Faith felt a comforting warmth surge through his system. His earlier worries seemed like a distant, hazy memory now. Luke was right, he'd gone into hyperdrive over a silly coincidence. That's all it was, nothing more. He relaxed and sank into Luke's embrace. 

Faith looked up past Luke's broad shoulder, squinting, hearing something. Breaking the kiss he whispered, "What the_?" 

Someone, a man, was crashing through the trees toward them. Faith's stomach knotted and his eyes went wide in disbelief. 

"Faith!" Parker McCoy urgently called, his voice shaking. 

Luke quickly turned to locate the source of the interruption. 

"Parker?" Faith said hoarsely. As the man tumbled to a stop Faith could see that it really was him, a little disshevelled, a terrified look on his face, but it was Parker. 

Before Faith could speak, Luke hopped down from the table and butted protectively in between them. Whoever this was he looked like a good candidate for Psychos 'R' Us. 

"Hello?" he said. "Faith, who is this?" 

Check out the jealous man, Faith thought for a second. "Ah, ex- _very_ -ex boyfriend," he quickly told Luke, then turned back to Parker. "Parker, what are you doing here? I've been tryin' to reach you all day." 

"You know what's coming! It killed them!" Parker, wild-eyed, gripped his arm. "I followed you. I had to warn you, find you." 

Snatching his arm away, Faith nervously stepped back. "Stop with the cryptic--you're scaring me." 

"Just a minute," Luke demanded angrily. "Were you watching us?" 

But the question went unanswered. Parker shook his head, tears starting to form in his eyes. "I wish Nick had never seen that damn book. I should have never involved you in this. But no, we had to have money and power, and with it came a price." He laughed bitterly. "Death." 

The man was rambling and Luke hated to think of this being one of Faith's castoffs. He recalled Faith telling him that he'd led a colorful life. He gently took Faith aside and was surprised to read the worry written all over his face. 

"Faith," he began. "What is he talking about?" 

Terror gripped Parker tight around the chest. "Voices," he sobbed, "in my head!" Smacking the sides of his head, his fingers tore into his hair. 

"Voices?" whispered Faith. 

"She followed me!" screamed Parker. 

Luke heaved an enormous sigh of irritation. "Faith, that's enough." He gently pulled Faith back. "We should get the police. He's a raving lunat--" His voice broke away as he turned around. "What the hell is that?" 

A fog, thick and billowing drew in all around them. It slowly crept across the river, through the trees and over the damp grass. As the first wisps touched their faces an unnatural chill reached down to their bones. 

Faith's brain started to buzz. Suddenly, all the horrible pieces were falling into place. This was just like before. It was happening all over again. 

He shook his head. "No," Faith whispered, going white. 

Parker sprang forward. "It's coming!" he cried. "You have to get away." 

"What's coming?" Luke asked with his last ounce of patience. 

Something, a sixth sense perhaps, made Faith look up. His breath caught in his throat. A long ribbon of winged shapes was streaming across the night sky. 

Parker glanced up and cried out in horror, "It's too late! It's here!" 

Crows and ravens of every shape and size spread across the sky in a swirling cloud, hovering over the park. Rising to an angry shriek the birds swooped down toward them. 

* * *

**PART FOUR: FATEFUL MEETING**

As the horrible truth sank in--that the spirit summoned during the sance had returned to hunt and kill them--Faith felt a cold blast of nausea explode in his stomach. 

Parker sprang forward. "It's coming!" he cried. "You have to get away." 

"What's coming?" Luke asked with his last ounce of patience. 

Something, a sixth sense perhaps, made Faith look up. His breath caught in his throat. A long ribbon of winged shapes was streaming across the night sky. 

Luke's jaw dropped in astonishment. 

Parker glanced up and cried out in horror, "It's too late! It's here!" 

Crows and ravens of every shape and size spread across the sky in a swirling cloud, hovering over the park. Rising to an angry shriek the birds swooped down toward them. 

Parker froze in terror, then turned and pelted away. 

"Run!" shouted Luke. 

Grabbing Faith's arm, they ran for the safety of the trees and the birds pursued them. The avian threat sped across the night sky in an angry swirling cloud, one group hovering just behind Faith and Luke as they ran while the rest of the flock fixated on Parker. 

Every now and again a bird would swoop down to attack. They ran on and on. If they halted, or even slowed, more birds would appear to swipe at them. 

Then Faith heard the voice. The same, chilling, inhuman voice he'd first heard a year ago. A voice he didn't hear with normal human hearing; he heard it resonating within his mind, coming from within the mist. The birds screeched overhead and the voice grew stronger in his thoughts. 

"I remember you," it called. "Release me. Give me your death." 

As he and Luke ran along the edge of the trees, Faith looked over his shoulder. Parker was running all over the park, but the birds were all around him, reaching toward him with their claws. 

It was as if Parker were being herded, he thought suddenly--then Faith saw her, a ghostly thin, almost translucent figure gliding, icy cold, out of the fog. Pale as death, the old woman's dark sunken eyes focused on Parker. 

Faith gave a surprised gasp as Luke pulled him into the safety of the pines. Panting from exertion, Luke double over and tried to catch his breath. 

"What," he panted, "the hell is going on? Faith, are you okay?" 

"Oh yeah." Faith felt on the verge of fainting. "This happens every day in Newark," he replied. 

"I...I've never seen anything...like it," Luke said, but Faith wasn't listening, he was staring at the face that had haunted his nightmares. 

Parker started to back away, but Faith heard the voice follow him. Even in the fog it knew where he was. 

"Your death will give me life." 

She glowed in the darkness as she walked slowly, but purposefully, toward a terrified Parker. 

At the same time, the birds approached, their talons glittering like steel razors in the moonlight. They swirled around, slashing at him, driving him toward the hag's outstretched arms. 

Parker cried out, throwing up his scratched arms to protect his battered, bleeding face. Closing in, the birds threw themselves at Parker's body... 

Parker gave three high, desperate screams and fell silent... 

The birds' sharp beaks bore straight through his body, bursting out of his stomach and flying back up into the sky. Parker toppled into the old woman's embrace, twisting madly in her claw-like hands. 

A paralysing fear gripped Faith's heart. He stood, transfixed, by the horrible sight, his pulse pounding in his ears. 

The crone's black eyes shone in the darkness as she drained the life force from Parker's dying body. With a gruesome moist sound the old woman tossed the lifeless corpse to the ground. 

Faith screamed and wrenched his anguished gaze away. 

"Oh my god." Luke felt his stomach heave sickeningly, then anger took hold. He gripped Faith's arms and whirled him around. "Is this what you're afraid of? What you couldn't tell me?" 

"I didn't..." Faith began. He shut his eyes and shook his head miserably. 

The birds appeared through the trees, blasting their way toward the unsuspecting couple. Faith opened his eyes at the last second and saw the danger over Luke's shoulder. 

"Luke!!" Faith screamed. 

The warning came too late. The ribbon of birds sent Luke flying backward, knocking him out. One of the ravens swooped out of the darkness and Faith raised his arms to cover his head. Claws struck and sank into his right arm, slashing through his jacket. Faith cried out in pain as the bird fluttered swiftly away. Faith gasped and put his hand to his arm. It came away wet with his own blood. 

Ducking through the trees, Faith searched for Luke who lay sprawled on the ground, his eyes closed, mouth open and breathing. Luke was alive. Faith moved to help him but the birds swung round for another attack. 

A cruel laugh filled his mind and Faith turned to see the old woman who, instead of appearing as a ghostly shadow, now seemed more solid. She pointed a finger at Faith. Staring into her malevolent black eyes, he felt a chill course through his body. She was feeding on life itself and he was next on the menu. 

She bared her blackened, cracked teeth in a threatening smile. Faith stepped back. He couldn't control the instinct that made him duck through the trees and run. 

Faith's heart beat furiously. He could hear the shrieking birds and the cackling of the ghastly old woman behind him. He looked around frantically: there was no where to hide. 

That's when he saw it. Not too far away--maybe a mile--he could see the deserted old warehouse standing like a beacon through the dank trees. Tearing through the pines, he set off in a terrified sprint across the road and toward the derelict building. 

Hearing the ominous sound of the birds approaching, Faith, running for his life, scampered up a flight of stone stairs and desperately tugged on a locked door. 

"Come on!" he shouted, wincing from the pain in his arm. 

Faith whipped his head up just as the angry flock rounding the corner. But before they could attack there was a rending crack. Faith stumbled back, shocked, as the door handle, along with pieces of the door itself, came away in his hands. 

"What the hell?" 

It took a few seconds for him to check and try to comprehend what had happened. With no time to lose, Faith dashed through the door. Searching the expansive gloom, he pulled a large, empty gas cylinder and jammed it against the door. 

Outside the swarm of birds swooped down--then up again, past the building and away, disappearing into the dark sky. 

Faith was shaking. It was as if he had come from a nightmare into full consciousness but couldn't believe he was awake. Holding his arm painfully, he hurried up a rusting catwalk to search for a safe way out. 

* * *

Mulder and Scully crept cautiously through the crime scene ringing Alexander McCrimmon Park. Detectives and other police officials scurried about in a flurry of activity as reporters and onlookers arrived en masse. No sooner had they stepped off the airplane from New York when the call came in about the latest murder. 

"Looks like your instincts were right, Mulder," Scully remarked. 

Wearing a pair of latex gloves she examined Parker McCoy's body lying beside a swingset. His eyes seemed to be staring dead ahead and his mouth was open in a silent scream. Deep, bloodless cuts slashed through his white neck. Mulder sat on his haunches beside her. 

"What was he doing here?" he wondered aloud. Straightening, he walked carefully around the body and narrowed his eyes for any clue on the ground. He pulled out the list of names they'd acquired at Winterborne School. 

"According to this, Parker McCoy was residing in Hartford, Conneticut." 

A sudden loud cawing sound made Mulder jump. A big black bird was perched on the climbing stone above his head. 

"Mulder, it's only a raven," Scully commented as she glanced up. 

He smirked ironically. "Nevermore." Mulder swept his foot out in an arc, covering the ground before him. "Have you noticed all the feathers?" 

"What about them?" she asked with a heavy sigh. "I know what you're thinking, but birds flock to parks, Mulder. It's like a magnet for them." 

From its perch on top of the monolith, the raven stared balefully down at them. Mulder couldn't help thinking the bird looked evil somehow. 

Scully lifted the heavy blanket to see the gruesome hole torn straight through the victim's abdomen. Mulder recoiled slightly. 

"Whatever caused this used a very large, sharp object with tremendous force," Scully grimly observed. 

Mulder connected the dots. "And was mauled by about a hundred claws?" Hands on hips, he continued, "Either he forgot his bird seed or he was deliberately attacked by a flock of pissed off birds." 

Interesting but not conclusive, Scully thought warily. She tended to be as skeptical as Mulder was to attribute everything bad that happened to a paranormal force. 

Mulder pulled out his cell phone from a trenchcoat pocket. "We'll need to issue an A.P.B. on Faith Matthews and find him before whatever did this tracks him down first." 

Scully chose her next words carefully. "Have you given any thought to the possibility that Faith Matthews may be the one behind these killings?" she wondered, voicing a theory she'd worked out on the airplane. 

"Come on, Scully," Mulder said, scowling. "You can't honestly believe that." 

At that moment a police woman detached herself from a group searching the woods and approached the two agents. 

"Agent Mulder, Agent Scully?" she called. 

"Yes?" Scully stood, re-covering the body. 

"We just found an unconscious man, an ambulance is on its way." 

Mulder stepped forward, his voice unexpectedly fervent. "Do you know who he is?" 

She checked her notebook. "His identification gave his name as Luke Palmer." 

Luke Palmer, who is he? Mulder wondered. And what's his involvement in all this? 

The police woman's voice broke in on his thoughts. "We also found this nearby," she said, placing a chain in Scully's hands. 

"Thank you." Scully held it up to the growing morning light. "Well, you don't have to worry about tracking down Faith Matthews," she told Mulder. "It looks like he was here." 

Mulder arched an eyebrow as Scully handed him the chain. It was the sort the military wore with dogtags except this one had the name "Faith" inscribed on five small pewter blocks. 

"There you are!" Beaming with triumph his satisfied smile segued into an irritated frown when he noticed Scully's expression didn't mirror his own elation. 

"What?" Mulder demanded. "This only proves that he was here. Look at the chain," he held it back up, "it's been broken. Whatever happened to Parker McCoy it was obviously after Faith, too. Everything falls right into place." 

"Yes, as long as we ignore the fact that Faith Matthews is the only one presumably still alive on our list," Scully responded. 

"What about the claw marks found on all four bodies? The binding energy holding the flesh together decomposed within a matter of hours." Mulder's eyes flashed. "How do you explain that, Scully?" He lifted his chin, defying her to argue. 

It wasn't clear to Scully, but one indisputable fact was: there could have been a struggle with Faith and this time physical evidence had been left behind; the chain had snapped off during the fight. She was about to suggest this scenario but thought better of it and decided to forgo an argument. 

"I'm telling you, Scully," Mulder said, inhaling and exhaling excitedly, "Parker came here to warn Faith but something got to him first." 

A shrill ringing burst through the air and he stepped away to answer his cell phone. 

She glanced back at him after several moments of protracted silence. He was still holding the phone to his ear, but now he was wearing a grave expression. 

"Mulder?" she called softly, moving in front of him. His face had drained of color and his eyes were filling with tears. "What's wrong?" 

He glanced at her as if he'd just noticed she was standing there. "That was Skinner," he finally said, his voice cracking. "My mother's relapsed into a coma." 

Scully, overwhelmed with emotion, reached out to squeeze his arm. "Oh, Mulder, I'm so sorry." 

"I've got to get to the hospital." He pocketed his cell and hurried back to the car. 

"I'll go with you," she offered. 

"No," he said, turning back. "You stay here." He paused, then added, "See if you can find Faith Matthews. The faster we find him, the better." 

Feeling helpless, Scully watched her partner run across the park and jump into the car. As he hurried away her heart went with him. Sighing deeply, she said a silent prayer for Teena Mulder, then searched her pockets for her own cell phone. 

At that moment another officer drew her attention away. "Excuse me," he said, "but Detective Donovan thought you might like to have a look at this." 

"Where did you find this?" Scully asked, absently. She turned the plastic evidence bag over and found a bloody scrap of material inside. 

"Near the unconscious victim." The officer pointed toward the woods where Scully could see two E.M.T.'s loading Luke Palmer into the back of an ambulance. 

Scully peered closely at the bag's contents. If the necklace had broken near the trees, could this shredded piece of clothing also belong to Faith Matthews? 

* * *

Faith had waited inside the old warehouse, his own fortified fortress, for the remainder of the night. When the first golden rays of light appeared on the horizon and the mist had evaporated from the streets, he'd carefully ventured back outside. 

Favoring his arm, he'd watched from the concealment of a doorway as Crystal City General Hospital E.M.T.'s loaded Luke into the back of an ambulance and left the ominously still park. 

He felt so awful, getting scared and running and leaving him behind. Luke was still alive though, but poor Parker... There was no way to mitigate the horror of his death. Every time he closed his eyes, Faith could see Parker's broken body and the blood pooling all over the ground. 

At that thought, Faith's mind seemed to go completely blank. He was paralyzed by the enormity of this nightmarish predicament. He didn't have a clue what to do, and he was all alone. 

Thirty minutes later Faith arrived at the bustling hospital emergency room. His wounded arm forgotten, Faith accosted the first nurse he spotted behind the admitance desk. 

"Can you help me?" he asked. "I'm looking for Luke Palmer. He was brought in this morning." 

"Are you a family member?" she asked, skeptically. 

Faith hesitated and decided it was best to tell a white lie. "Yes," he replied, crossing his fingers behind his back, "he's my brother." 

The desk attendant took her time checking her clipboard for information. "He's just been moved into a room: 4S." 

Faith hurriedly thanked her and bolted for the first elevator that came into view. Stepping out onto the fourth floor, adrenaline still pumping away, he almost collided with an orderly exiting Room 4S. 

"Oh, sorry," Faith apologized. 

"Hey, take it easy." Brian Walker took a good, long look at the guy before him. He couldn't believe his luck. The college guys--the really hot ones--almost never talked to him. And this one, with his hazel eyes, light brown hair, and athletic build, was like one of the covers of the gay adult videos he kept in his sock drawer. 

Faith leaned forward to get a look inside the room. "Is Luke Palmer in there?" he asked quickly. "Is he going to be all right?" 

"Of course." 

"Are you sure?" 

"It's no big deal, just a little concussion." 

"Oh, no." 

"No, he's gonna be fine." The orderly noticed Faith's shredded, blood-stained jacket. He saw the opportunity to get this wet dream alone and lunged. "But what about you?" 

"Yeah, well," Faith said as he reached to nervously finger his chain, but remembered he'd lost it. "Physically I'm okay." 

"You'd better let me take a look at that arm," Brian offered while throwing him another smile. 

"Ah, don't worry." Faith shrugged a little. "I'm a fast healer." 

"It could be infected," the orderly pointed out. "It'll only take a few minutes, then you can come back later." 

Relieved that Luke was really all right, Faith gave in. The young orderly smiled flirtatiously as he led Faith back up the hall. 

"Did you talk to the cops yet?" he asked, suddenly. 

Faith bit his lower lip and tried to conceal the panic in his eyes. "No. Why?" 

"Why?" He repeated, finding Faith's question a little strange. "They want to find out who attacked him, that's why. Mind you, just because they're investigating doesn't mean they'll get to the bottom of it." 

Holy geesh! This is not good, Faith thought. Face tingling and heart thumping he followed the orderly into an observation room, Faith's mind a million miles away. 

* * *

Mulder emerged from his mother's hospital room with a heavy heart and sore eyes. Seeing her lying helpless again, silent, hooked up to machines wrenched him terribly. 

His own helplessness threatened to overwhelm his senses. Her coma had been diagnosed as "unexplainable"--a simple word that could have been branded on his own life, Mulder thought miserably. There was no Jeremiah Smith to call on this time. He was alone. 

Mulder sat down on a white plastic bench just outside of her room, holding his head wearily in his hands. 

At the far end of the corridor, Walter Skinner had watched and waited. When Doctor Stimson had called his office searching for Mulder, Skinner's own heart felt as if someone had tugged it right out of his chest. 

Mulder looked so sad and disoriented that all Skinner wanted to do was crush the younger man into his comforting arms. Instead, he walked toward him and settled for resting a hand on Mulder's shoulder. 

"Mulder, is she going to be okay?" he asked gently, sitting down beside him. 

"You know, that's what's so frustrating." Mulder's lip trembled, and he inhaled sharply on the verge of bursting into tears. "They won't tell me anything. Damn doctors." 

"How bad is it?" 

"Pretty bad." Mulder paused to massage his forehead. Skinner waited patiently until he was ready to continue. "And I honestly don't know what to do. Scully would tell me to have faith, but it's so hard, just so hard. Fox Mulder, the man who shouts to the heavens about aliens and government conspiracys can't trust himself to believe in faith." 

"Nothing's going to happen to her, okay?" Skinner nodded and gave Mulder's shoulder another reasurring squeeze. Mulder averted his gaze to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye. 

"Is there anything I can do?" Skinner asked, knowing how tough this was on him. God, he wanted to tell Mulder that he could lean on him, pour out his heart, but just as Mulder had trouble believing in the power of faith so Skinner could not let the words fall from his lips. 

"Something to drink?" he awkwardly suggested. Inwardly he gave himself a right hook for sounding so lame. "I'll be back in a few minutes." He moved off down the hall in search of a drinks machine. 

Mulder hung his head and sighed. After a moment or two he looked up and tried to still his pounding heart. His eyes absently followed the pattern of the walls all the way down the corridor. 

He blinked and noticed a young man emerging from a room. Mulder focused his eyes and was astounded. 

With medication applied to his now wrapped injured arm, Faith thanked the over eager orderly and headed back toward Luke's room. 

Though the wound no longer hurt, he draped his jacket over the bandage. He only wished that Luke had quick recuperative abilities. On the other hand, when he woke heaven only knew what his reaction to last night's events would be. 

Faith paused outside of 4S, took a breath, and pushed open the door. Luke was sleeping peacefully. If it weren't for the bruise on his forehead, he would be the picture of health. 

Just as he was about to step further inside, a husky monotone called his name. 

"Excuse me, Faith Matthews?" 

Surprised, Faith turned in the doorway and found a tall, lean man dressed in a suit and long black trenchcoat. Insurance hustler, got to be, Faith groaned inwardly. 

"Whatever you're selling here I'm not buying," Faith told him. As he made to close the door, Mulder pressed a palm against it. 

"Woah, just a second," he said. His arm slightly brushed Faith's. 

Sharp pains arrowed through Mulder's brain and ricocheted off the inside of his skull. The blood red, jerky images filled his mind. 

  * The closed door. 
  * A woman's pleading voice. 
  * 'What's going on? Mom?' he heard himself call. 



Shaky and nauseous, he breathed in and out deeply to quell the sensations. 

"Hey, are you okay?" Faith asked, half concerned and half wary. 

The feeling, voices and images faded. 

"Yeah," Mulder breathed, "I've been looking for you." 

"For me? Who are you?" 

"Special Agent Fox Mulder," he replied, fishing out and showing Faith his badge. "I'd like to ask you a few questions." 

"F.B.I." Faith stiffened, suddenly on edge. "What do the feds want with me?" he asked cautiously. 

Mulder quickly gathered his thoughts. "You were at Alexander McCrimmon Park last night where Parker McCoy was murdered." 

Faith's heart skipped a beat. 

"You were, weren't you?" Mulder pressed. He nodded inside the room at Luke's sleeping form. "Was he with you when it happened? Who is he?" 

Faith bristled. "He's my boyfriend. You gotta problem with that? 'Cause I've got a right hook for anyone who does!" He balled up a fist to make his point and immediately regretted it as a small pain shot through his arm. 

Mulder, taken aback by his feisty attitude, instantly took in the bandaged arm. 

"You hurt your arm and your friend in there got knocked unconscious," Mulder said, his own temper rising. "Based on the recent deaths of your classmates, that makes you both lucky." 

Faith didn't like this, not at all. He slipped past Mulder and back into the hall. 

"I'm not in the mood to play twenty questions with you, G-Man," he said, eyeing the elevators at the far end of the hall. 

"Well, you'll just have to make the time," Mulder told him. 

"Sorry," Faith said, his eyes crinkling. "I've gotta book." With that he hurried toward the silver double doors. 

Inhaling and exhaling with quiet frustration, Mulder took off after him. He reached him just as Faith pressed the elevator call button. 

"Something out there killed your friends and it's going to come after you next!" 

His raised voice received strange and reproving looks from the nearby nurses station. Faith shrugged at them, nodded at the Agent, and made a swirling motion with one finger next to his head. Mulder saw what he was doing and silently fumed. 

"Yes, I'm crazy and let me tell you I'm also not in the mood for any games. Okay, look--" He led Faith aside, grateful for the reprieve from another massive headache. 

Faith twisted out of his grip. "Oh, watch it, easy," he protested. "You break it, you buy it." 

Mulder leaned in and whispered, "I know that you were involved in some kind of occult ritual." He reached into his coat pocket and showed Faith the polaroid of the dorm room. 

"Look at the symbols." He pointed at the painted circle. "They're possibly some sort of gaelic or celtic script." 

Focused on the photo, Faith listened with half an ear while catching his bottom lip with his teeth to keep it from trembling. 

"I know you know something," Mulder continued. "I can see it in your eyes. Just like I know you've got a secret." 

Faith had had enough from this self-described nut job. "Well, in that case, you have nothing to worry about. Excuse me." He bolted for the stairs. 

"Wait!" Mulder called, running after him. "Hey!" 

For someone with an injured arm, Faith Matthews was remarkably spry, Mulder noted as he breathlessly caught up with him four floors down in the lobby. 

"Faith, stop right there!" Mulder shouted. "It's going to try and kill you next." 

"Been there, bought the T-shirt," Faith smarted, hurrying for the exit. 

"Turning your back on the problem won't solve anything," Mulder told him, trying to make him see reason. 

"Who said I was?" Faith glared at him. "I don't run away from nothin'." He shrugged. "Besides, I know how to take care of myself. I've been doing it long enough," he quietly added. 

He went outside, the automatic doors sliding closed behind him. He heard a rustle of feathers above and looked up. Three black crows were perching on top of the hospital sign. Faith looked at them uneasily, shivered and hurried away. 

The glossy black heads of the crows turned as one to watch as Mulder burst through the doors in his pursuit of Faith. 

Faith glanced back. "You just won't take a hint, will you?" 

Mulder jogged beside him, all the time trying to reason with the stubborn younger man. 

"I've never been any good at hints," he said, "and I'm not going away until you talk to me." 

"Know what? You're gonna get yourself killed, P.I.," Faith told him. 

"It's F.B.I.," Mulder reminded him, then added, "I can help you." 

Faith whirled round. "You don't know me. You don't know what I've been through." 

The Agent raised an eyebrow. "I may surprise you." 

"Please," Faith began, but Mulder swiftly cut in, "Have you ever had any unusual experiences?" the agent asked, curiously. 

"Are you joking? I could fill a book." Shaking his head, Faith moved quickly down the sidewalk, wishing that a taxi would come along. He paused and peered curiously at the agent. "Why am I still talkin' to you?" he asked before continuing toward the corner. 

Mulder persistently followed. "It doesn't take a crystal ball to realize there's something odd going on here." He pulled Faith to a halt. "I know what happened." 

"Good for you. What do you know?" 

"About your powers." 

Faith blinked. "You wanna vauge that up for me?" 

Exhaling deeply, Mulder had decided how both the deadly spirit was summoned and that Faith was the link between it and his recent headaches. 

"Your psychic abilities," he blurted, voicing his thoughts. "Does it run in your family?" 

He tried to read the expression on Faith's face. Mulder hesitated, catching the younger man's bewildered stare. 

"You're sure you don't know what I'm talking about?" he continued, carefully. 

"I'm really, really sure." Seriously freaked, Faith wanted to put as much distance between him and Mulder as he could. 

Undeterred, Mulder caught up with the Jersey native once more. 

"Hold on," he said, trying a different tact. "Faith, I need your help to stop these killings. You're right smack in the middle of this..." Mulder's voice trailed away. 

Faith sighed with total exasperation. Standing, facing one another, a sudden cold breeze blew about them. Mulder, his hair ruffling, turned to look in the direction of the gust. He exchanged a curious look with Faith. 

They could hear a faint thumping. The sound grew steadily louder. Mulder stared in amazement. In the distance a dark swarm of birds rose against the skyline, heading directly toward them. 

Faith shook his head in disbelief. "Oh, God, no, no, no!" he cried, terrified. 

"Run--scream later!" Mulder ordered. 

They both broke into a dead run. Rounding a corner, they raced for the closest building. This early in the morning most of them were still closed, and there wasn't even a hint of traffic on the streets. 

Mulder glanced back at the angry flock of crows and ravens stretching out their sharp talons for them. Keeping pace with Faith, he saw a strange, thick mist drifting over the asphalt. From Faith's horrified response this must be the way it happened before, Mulder decided. If they didn't find a safe place soon both he and Faith would be torn to pieces. 

"Get back!" Faith suddenly shouted. 

Mulder skidded to a halt. The flock had detatched itself and was swooping down on them from the opposite direction. Behind them and before them--they were trapped! 

The birds arranged themselves in a swirling wall so that the two men could not move. With an ear-splitting shriek the black mass of wings moved in for the kill. 

* * *

**PART FIVE: A MATTER OF TIME**

Like two enormous swarms of angry bees, the crows and ravens converged on a horrified and fascinated Mulder, while Faith stood beside him, wide-eyed and searching for a way out. 

On both sides of the street there were only quiet, closed buildings. The birds hovered in the air, within striking distance of the two men. Mulder had no doubt they would attack if they moved; they were being held here, watching, waiting for something. 

Faith's head started tingling and a chill skittered down his spine. A terrible cackle filled his mind. That sound! he thought, terrified. It's here again! 

His frightened eyes darted to the thick, hazy mist which had appeared and was creeping along the dark shadows of the buildings not yet touched by the morning light. 

"Faith, what is that thing?" asked Mulder, panting breathlessly. 

"You don't wanna know, Secret Service," Faith shouted, choking on a gasp. Turning in a tight circle, he tugged on the agent's coat. "You and cats got a lot in common, huh? If you don't zip it you're gonna find out how much." 

"I always said I never wanted to die ignorant," Mulder smartly retorted while his eyes gave one more sweep over the buildings. 

High above, the birds swooped and circled like vultures anticipating the dinner bell. Mulder had a sinking feeling that what they were waiting for was the approaching mist, which continued to cling to the shadows. 

Just then, something caught his keen eyes. If the birds didn't kill them, then whatever Faith was afraid of in the mist surely would. They'd have to take a chance and make a run for it. 

"C'mon!" he shouted. 

"Hey!" Faith called. 

He dashed for the nearest structure with Faith hot on his heels. A furious shrieking sounded overhead and the birds gave chase. Faith ducked and veered away from the dark, lunging shapes while Mulder nimbly side-stepped them. 

The building growing closer, Mulder threw a look over his shoulder, and his eyes widened. Rearing up like an enraged cobra, the mist swirled and struck out after them. 

Tearing his eyes away from the incredible sight, the Agent ducked into a natural alley formed between two buildings. Faith hurried in behind him and swiftly overtook Mulder. Old tires and motor oil instantly assaulted their senses. 

Forming a long ribbon, the flock poured through the opening after their escaping prey. Below them, the mist swelled into a rolling fog which undulated through the darkened alley. 

Mulder and Faith ran on and on, a sudden deathly chill reaching out to envelope them. This, added to the cawing and musty smell of the birds, made the gloomy alley even more oppressive. 

"I assume you know where we're going, Columbo?" Faith's voice flew to Mulder's ear. 

"Not a clue," the Agent confessed. 

"Great!" Faith puffed out his cheeks. 

Then, the evil presence touched his mind again. Faith gasped in shock. The voice screamed like hot needles in his brain, "Give me your death!" 

Searching left to right for a door or opening, Faith pushed himself on, the horrifying image of Parker's murder blazing in his mind. 

Catching up with him, Mulder threw a glance at Faith. He was no longer the smart ass firecracker he'd met earlier, but a terrified kid who'd seen more than anyone should. 

"Shit!" Mulder swore. 

They both came to a sudden halt before a twelve-foot high chain link fence stretching across the alley. 

Mulder's hands gripped and pounded at the locked barrier. Faith shot a nervous look at the advancing birds, and quickly scanned the top of the fence. He slipped his fingers through the links and started to haul himself upward. 

"C'mon," he told Mulder. "We can climb it." 

Out of nowhere, three crows streaked down to attack. Seeing the danger, Mulder reached up and pulled Faith back to the ground. The birds soared away to rejoin their fellows, narrowly missing their target. 

Swiftly reaching for his gun, Mulder protectively shielded Faith with his body. He stared at the flocking swarm. He could fire off a few shots to keep the birds at bay, but it would only buy them a little time. 

"Stay behind me," he instructed Faith, his voice a low, urgent whisper. "Now back away slowly." 

Faith swallowed hard, nodded silently, and moved until the fence pressed into his back. The narrow alley was now completely filled with birds. Close behind the mass of black wings, the swelling fog blew in and started to part. Faith gave a small, choked sob. Mulder peered closely and nervously fingered the trigger of his gun. A figure, a woman, was moving out of the mist toward them. 

This was it, Mulder realized as he kept his bright eyes focused on the indistinct figure. This was how Faith's classmates died, this is what they summoned. He glared up at the hovering crows and ravens, who waited for them to make another hasty move. Mulder felt his overriding natural instinct to protect himself and Faith kick into four-wheel-drive. His free hand searched behind him to make sure that the younger man was still there. 

Mulder suddenly cried out and winced from the extreme, agonising pain blasting through his head. Sick nausea took hold as his head rolled back. He swayed and sank to his knees as his legs buckled. 

"What's wrong?!" Faith exclaimed, on the edge of panic. "Don't go loopy on me now." He looked between the Agent and the advancing fog. "You've gotta pull it together!" 

But Mulder could not hear Faith. He felt as if he were swimming in an ocean and had gone too far out. Now the undertow was pulling him under and he fought the feeling, but it was far too powerful. 

Mulder's muscles knotted, and he reeled as a multitude of jerky, grainy, blood red images played through his mind. 

  * 'No!' a woman's voice pleaded. 'Don't make me do this again. I can't do it.' 



Mulder opened his terrified eyes wide. He was no longer in the dark alley, but could see himself moving down the hallway of a house, walking steadily and anxiously closer to a white door. 

Then, a man's harsh voice invaded and sliced through his mind. 

  * 'You know how important this is. It's useless to fight me and you know it.' 



Mulder saw his own hand reaching out to grasp the door knob. 

  * 'It's important to you, and only you!' the woman shouted. 'It's horrible, disgusting ...' she struggled through her anger to find the words. 'You can't do this to me again!' 



Mulder's hand wavered over the door knob. The woman's voice: it was his mother's. 

  * She started to cry, helplessly. 'I won't lose another_' 
  * 'Mom, what's wrong?' Fox heard himself call. 



He touched the door knob, turned it and opened the door. 

Blinding white lightning pierced straight through his skull and filled his very being. Thunder boomed and crackled all around him. Mulder shut his eyes to force the light out, but it was no use. A deep cry rose from his chest and burst through his lips. 

Seeing that the man shielding them from their prey was vulnerable, a long line of birds shrieked down out of the sky. 

Alarmed, Faith's heart almost stopped when he heard the dreadful screech and saw the cloud of ravens descending toward them. 

Rocked and disoriented by the physical impact of the visions, Mulder lost precious seconds as he struggled to recover. 

The birds attacked with renewed vigour, and Faith brought up his hands to defend himself. Wings blasting all around them, one set of talons reached out and struck Mulder across the forehead. He cried out painfully and sank back to his knees. Faith batted the attacking birds away with his jacket as tendrils of fog reached out to engulf them. 

He knelt beside Mulder and grasped him under the arms, determined to pull the agent out of harm's way. He wasn't going to watch someone else die. 

"C'mon!" Faith urgently shouted above the noise. "We're not gonna die here!" He lifted Mulder back onto his feet. "If we do," added Faith, "I swear I'm gonna kick your ass!" 

The swirling birds wheeled around to tear Mulder away from their objective. Faith cried out and pushed the semi-conscious man aside. With a groan, Mulder landed in a heap atop a pile of old boxes. 

At the last possible moment, Faith twisted round as the first wave of birds streaked by and smashed headlong into the fence. Heart furiously pounding, Faith dug his fingers into the chain links and started to scale the barrier. 

A scream of fury filled his mind. "Only your death can release me!" 

With an agility he never knew he possessed, Faith reached the top and vaulted over the fence. Landing neatly on the other side, Faith cast a quick glance at Mulder. He exhaled with relief and apprehension. The wacked-out Federal Agent was unconscious, but safe. 

As with Luke before him, the birds were ignoring him now and concentrating on Faith. Their loud shrieking echoed off the brick walls, and Faith took off in a sprint, leading them away. 

The fog enclosed on Mirragan's enraged figure and started to slowly fade away. Faith Matthews was the last, he could not escape her servants. 

Mulder rolled over onto his back, hearing the faint cawing of birds. He reached for the gash on his forehead and winced through his teeth. He made to sit up, but passed completely out. 

* * *

Scully clicked off her cell phone in frustration. She didn't know how many more times she could hear Mulder's voice mail answer before she started screaming. She'd quit counting after the tenth time. As she entered the still cluttered basement office, she exhaled worriedly and wondered where her partner could be. Had he been with his mother all this time? Had something happened and he simply turned off his phone? 

Scully sighed deeper. She felt exhausted and--she hated to admit it--stumped after having performed the autopsy on Parker McCoy. As with the other cases, the body had decomposed into a pile of ashes after only a few hours. 

Flopping down on the chair behind Mulder's desk, she slipped on her glasses and scanned through the toxicology report once more. Absolutely nothing to indicate that the man had ingested poisons or any kind of acid that could cause rapid deteroration. 

As usual, this X-File was cloaked in mystery. Closing the folder, she turned and thoughtfully stared at Mulder's I WANT TO BELIEVE poster--a poster she herself had given him to replace the one which had burned with the original office. 

A malevolent spirit hunting down each of the five ex-Winterborne students? 

She found it easier to believe that Faith Matthews had injected the four victims with some hitherto unknown lethal element. Still, that did not explain the claw marks as Mulder had so rightly pointed out. 

Scully nearly jumped out of the chair when her cell phone trilled. 

"Scully," she answered, then hastily continued, before the voice on the other end could get a word in edgewise: "Mulder, where have you been? Is everything all right? I've been trying to reach you for hours." 

"Agent Scully?" Patricia McMillian's voice came down the line. 

"Oh, I'm sorry." Dana's cheeks turned a light shade of crimson. 

"We've just finished analysing the blood sample you sent us." 

Scully leaned forward, suddenly energised again. "Anything for us to go on?" she asked the F.B.I. lab technician. 

"We've been unable to find any match in the computer files." Patricia paused. "But there's something very strange about the sample." 

"What do you mean?" 

"There's some kind of infection in the blood itself. It's unlike anything I've ever seen." 

"I'll come down there right away," Scully told her, already halfway down the hall. 

Heading toward the elevator, she decided to try Mulder one more time. He'd definitely want to know about this, and it might help him to have work to concentrate on, she reasoned. 

Holding the compact phone with her shoulder, she shrugged back into her coat and waited for her partner's voice mail to pick up. She blinked when a familiar surly-voiced A.D. answered. 

"Sir?" Scully was taken aback. "I was trying to reach Mulder. Where is he?" she asked, stepping into the elevator. 

Skinner's reply was heavy, and strained. "Dana," he began, and Scully knew it was serious. "There was some sort of an accident." He took a deep breath on the other end. "Mulder's in the hospital." 

* * *

Lightning crashed and thunder rumbled inside Mulder's dreaming mind. Distant voices called out to him, but were overshadowed by the sound of hundreds of flapping wings. He squirmed and turned, helplessly. 

He cried out. The dream ended. 

Mulder couldn't move for a moment and he struggled for control. When the disorientation passed, he flattened himself in the bed he was lying in. With his stomach in knots and his head throbbing, Mulder took several deep breaths. 

When he opened his eyes a few minutes later, he found a very concerned and frowning Walter Skinner standing by his hospital bed. Mulder quickly took in his new surroundings, and grimaced from both the pain in his head and the sight of an I.V. tube snaking out from his arm. 

Skinner's throat was tight. When he'd heard that Mulder had been found unconscious in an alley, his heart had almost stopped. With every new X-File, Mulder put himself into more and more danger. He seemed to crave it, like a daredevil or a stuntman who willingly jumped into a fire. He cared too much about Mulder to stand on the sidelines and be a spectator. 

With his mother's relapse, and his own recent health problems, Fox Mulder needed someone and Walter Skinner was determined to be that someone. 

"Mulder, everything's okay," Skinner's soft, deep voice reasurred him. 

"What happened?" Mulder asked, groggily. 

His stomach started to relax and the pounding in his head diminished a bit. Even so, he felt terrible, and if he looked as bad as he felt, was it any wonder that Skinner looked worried? 

"Did you happen to get the number of the bus that ran me down?" he laughed dryly. Mulder explored the scratches on his forehead with gentle fingers and winced. "Remind me never to do that again. Whatever 'that' was." 

"Don't you remember?" Walter asked, carefully. He wondered if the Agent had suffered a concussion. "You left the hospital and there was some kind of an accident." 

Mulder's heart sank. "My mother, is she..." 

"Her condition's the same, Mulder." 

The Agent sighed and sank back down into the starched white sheets. 

"I wish I could remember." He put his hand back on his forehead. "I've got such a headache, I can't even think straight." 

Skinner clasped his hands and leaned forward. "I talked with some of the nurses and they told me that you were arguing with a young man earlier," he said, proceeding carefully. 

Mulder paused and narrowed his eyes, as if he were staring into the distance. "There's something on the edge of my mind," he explained. "Like I've forgotten something important." 

"When I came back and found you gone--" Walter began, keeping his voice low and soothing, but his grip was firm and forceful as the alarmed younger man started to pull himself up, and Skinner pushed him back. 

"This has got something to do with the X-File," he said. "I was looking for--" Mulder shook his head, trying to recall. 

"You can't do any more right now," Skinner said firmly. "Scully can handle it. The case will still be there when you're feeling better." 

Mulder suddenly felt as if he were being given an order. 

"What do you mean 'the case will still be there'?" he asked suspiciously. 

A light tapping on the door drew their attention, and a potential argument, away. 

Scully walked inside and hurried over to Mulder. "I got here as fast as I could," she said, her worried gaze directed solely at Mulder, as if Skinner wasn't even in the room. "How are you feeling?" she asked. 

"Like getting the hell out of here." Mulder grumbled. 

Wisecracks, that was a good sign, she thought and gave him a half smile. 

"Just lay back and relax," she told him, and quickly examined his head wound. She bit her lip. Across Mulder's forehead were what appeared to be claw marks. "How did this happen?" 

Mulder gazed at her blankly. "I don't know," he said, suddenly looking shy and vulnerable. "Everything's in a fog." 

"From what I understand," Skinner spoke up, "someone called 911 and Mulder was found in an alley two blocks away from here." 

"What the hell was I doing in an alley?" Mulder wondered aloud. He was starting to get very irritated and frustrated with himself. Had he been abducted? He pondered the possibility. Amnesia was a common side effect of missing time. 

"Someone?" Scully repeated, suddenly very worried. 

Three heads turned as a young, auburn-haired nurse entered the room, chart in hand. 

"Agent Mulder?" Susan Collins called, cheerfully. "Doctor Williamson just authorized your release." 

"Good thing, I was about ready to make a run for it," Mulder grumpily replied. 

As the nurse walked over to take out the agent's I.V., Skinner took Scully's arm and pulled her aside. 

"I want to talk to you," he said. 

He quickly and confidentially filled her in on the details leading up to Mulder's accident. 

"Does this have anything to do with that X-File you're working on?" he asked, throwing a protective glance at Mulder. 

Scully shook her head yes. "Mulder was intent on tracking down a young man, and he's the only one I can possibly think of that he might have been arguing with." 

"You think he did this to Mulder?" 

"I'm not postive, sir, no." 

"What about his loss of memory? The doctor indicated that there was no head trauma. Do you think he had another attack?" 

Scully folded her arms, her expression serious. This doesn't make any sense, she mused to herself. Mulder's attacks all started the moment he came into contact with Faith Matthews. All she was certain of was that four people were dead, two injured, and that they all had some connection with Faith. Then, there was the blood sample... She broke off her thoughts, having come to a decision. 

"I'm not certain, sir," she confessed to Skinner. Scully narrowed her blue eyes in Mulder's direction. "I don't believe his 'stress, lack of sleep, and over-worked' excuse. You know Mulder, he thrives on all of that." She shook her head decisively. "No, it must tie into our case and I want to run a background check on a suspect." 

Skinner frowned in puzzlement. He wondered exactly how long Mulder's attacks had been going on. Had Scully not shared with him everything about Mulder's health? 

He watched as she crossed to Mulder's bed. Walter stood so deep in thought that he barely heard their conversation. Scully, newly determined, marched back toward the door. She paused on her way out and gave Skinner a piercing look, then jerked her head in Mulder's direction and said: 

"Take care of him." Then she smiled thoughtfully. "I feel funny even saying that. When haven't you?" 

Walter could still feel himself blushing after the red-haired Agent left. He hadn't realized he was being that obvious. Feeling the strong emotions welling up inside him, he slipped into his gruff A.D. persona to hide them. 

"How's the patient?" he asked Nurse Collins as he slowly moved forward. 

"He's going to be fine." She finished applying a band-aid to Mulder's hand. "But the doctor advised that you take it easy for a few days, okay?" she finished, directly at the antsy younger man. 

"I'll see that he does," Skinner replied. 

Mulder grinned innocently. "You got it." He waited until the perky nurse had left to break into a wider smile. "Thanks, sir. Now I can find out what happened." 

"I think you misunderstand the situation," Skinner told him, his voice reverting to a low growl. "Agent Mulder, you're under doctor's orders to rest." He paused to take a breath. "That's exactly why I approved request for time off." 

Mulder's eyes widened. He felt like a little boy who'd gone off to play, gotten a skinned knee, and was now being punished for something he hadn't done. 

"Time off? Scully and I have--" 

Skinner swiftly cut him off. "Don't argue, Agent. Effective immediately, you have an extended leave of absence." The A.D. reached into his pants pocket and waved a key before him. 

"What's that?" asked Mulder, sucking in his pouty lip as curiosity got the better of him. 

"Spare key to my condo," his boss announced. Without missing a beat, he added: "You're going to need someone looking after you until we can determine the nature and severity of your illness. Now, I'm not going to hear another word about it, Agent Mulder." 

"But--" Mulder protested. 

Skinner broke in. "And that's final." 

Mulder exhaled with a mixture of surprise and resignation. Getting out of bed, his low cut hospital gown gave Walter a glimpse of his chest. Mulder's cheeks burned a soft shade of pink, and he self-consciously pulled the gown closed with one hand, then had to hold the other out as he wobbled on his feet. Skinner was by his side in an instant. 

"Are you sure you're okay?" 

"Just a little headache. I'll be fine." 

Mulder's smile did not reassure Skinner, but he decided to let it go until he got Mulder home. 

* * *

"No, I was just calling to see how Agent Mulder was after his..." Faith searched for the right word. "...accident." 

He glanced nervously around at the few customers browsing through the Stone Age, and he turned himself and the telephone away. Faith listened as the desk attendant came back. 

"Oh, thank god," he said, rigorously waving a hand. "Thanks for letting me check. Yeah, bye." 

He exhaled with relief. He'd been praying to St. Jude ever since he'd shaken the flock and found a pay phone to dial 911. He couldn't take another death, and as much as that Eliot Ness wannabe had infuriated him, Faith was grateful to the man for trying to save his life. He chewed on his lip thoughtfully. Did this Fox Mulder really want to help him? Could he trust a Fed, especially one as crazy as that guy had seemed? Maybe he could talk to him, explain what happened... 

Yeah, right! 

Faith shook himself mentally. The horror and despair of the situation were numbing his own resourceful brain into defeatism. Now was not the time to give up. No, he'd gotten himself into this mess and he was determined to jump into this nightmare headfirst with both barrels blazing. 

"Everything fine?" asked Sophie, his friend and shopkeeper, as she returned from the storeroom. 

"What?" Faith slid out from behind the counter. "Oh, yeah, peachy. Thanks for the phone." 

Sophie grinned, brushing back her mousy brown hair. "No problem for my best customer." 

That was an understatement as, each month, Faith nearly cleaned out her stock of crystals and candles. 

"I do have one more favor to ask," he piped up. 

She scanned his bandaged arm. "A good luck charm?" she suggested. 

"Oh, this?" Faith laughed nervously. "It's nothing. Got into a fight with a pidgeon." 

Sophie fixed him with an I-know-better look. Faith groaned. "Soph, just trust me on this. I do need something for good luck, in fact, something to--" He paused. He didn't think it would be a very good idea to tell her an evil spirit which had killed four people was now hunting for him. Faith swallowed before finishing, "To ward off some negative energy." 

"Ah-ha!" She smiled. "Then you came to the right place." 

Faith felt another surge of relief. Sophie's New Age store was probably the best occult and magick supplier in the country. Which, as Martha Stewart would say, is a good thing because Faith knew he could count on her to help. 

"What you'll probably need is a scapula," she told him, matter of factly. "I can put one together for you to wear. It won't be the most pleasant aroma in the world, but I can guarantee you the Sophie seal of protection." 

"That's great!" Faith gave her a big thumbs up. 

Sophie made her way through the store, gathering a few bags of herbs, and jars of root powders. Faith tagged along, rubbing at his temple in agitation. 

"You wouldn't happen to have any books that have crows and ravens in them, would ya?" he wondered. 

"Crows and ravens?" The Wiccan repeated, thoughtfully. "As best as I recall, they're harbingers of death." 

"You got that right," he muttered under his breath. 

"Mainly found in Celtic legends." She palmed three cubes of sulphur. "Have a look in the mythology section while I take care of these customers." 

Faith nodded and headed back toward the book cases, passing row upon row of celestial wind chimes along the way. His eyes scanned each volume carefully. 

He could almost feel his Pop staring at him with disapproval, a look which Faith always used to refer to as the "half nelson of guilt." It still made him deeply sad that his folks' last memory of him was being involved in the occult. 

Ma, Pop, if you're watching, he prayed, I've just gotta find out exactly what I'm up against. I'm gonna make you proud. 

His hand reached out and pulled "Witchcraft and Superstition Among the Celts" from its place on a shelf. He slid the heavy book into his hand and started to flip through it. 

Zilch, nada, not even a hint. C'mon, c'mon, Faith urged it quietly. 

"Yahtzee," he whispered. 

He felt goosebumps prickle his skin when he hit a page featuring the same red, circular eye symbol that had been used by Nick Jameson--the bastard, rest his soul--in that ceremony a year ago. Faith tried to still his racing heart. 

Hearing the bell chime as the customers left, Faith hurried back to the counter where Sophie was putting the finishing touches on the charm. 

"Find what you needed?' she asked, sealing the noxious pouch. 

"Oh, yeah. Big time." 

Faith set the book down and wrinkled his nose at the scapula. Whew, he grimaced inwardly, Soph was right about the smell. I just hope it works, he added mentally. 

"Okay. Mm-hmm." She started to add up his purchases. "That'll be $11.23 for the lot." 

She bagged the book while Faith pulled out his money. 

"Thanks!" He exclaimed with a lopsided grin. Slipping the scapula around his neck, he took the glittering purple bag and left. 

"Blessed be," Sophie called after him. 

Outside the shop, Faith scanned the sky and surrounding ledges. No sign of birds, not even a dove. He sighed, feeling slightly better. Moving down the sidewalk, he shimmied by a giggling couple and glanced at his watch. 

"I am so totally screwed!" he exclaimed, nearly slapping himself on the forehead. 

An evil spirit would have to take a backseat for the almost scarier Professor Gordon's quiz, and a meeting at WSR. This nightmare had already messed up enough of his life, and he wasn't about to fail his college courses and lose his job over it. Faith broke out in a sprint. 

Far in the distance the swirling mist appeared and drifted along the streets, huddling to the shadowed walls. The malevolent force within stretched out its mind and sensed Faith's presence. When night fell once more, it could reveal itself fully. For now its servants would follow the last link wherever he went. 

High above, the cawing of birds signalled ominously in the cloudy sky. 

The words which had summoned Mirragan had set events in motion that could not be undone. One more death and the spirit would be released. Faith Matthews, and then everything in its path, would be consumed and destroyed. From within the mist, Mirragan watched and waited. It was only a matter of time. 

* * *

**PART SIX: THE FOX AND THE BADGER**

Walter Skinner casually opened the condo door and flipped on a light switch. 

"Just make yourself at home." 

Mulder stepped inside and gazed around at the overstuffed chairs, plush sofa, walnut display case, swooping staircase and large screen television. 

"What's the saying?" said Mulder, leaning against a chair. "There's no place like it?" 

Skinner moved toward the sofa and sat down a duffel bag full of Mulder's things. He turned back to find the younger man, still looking pale, and fidgeting his fingers nervously. Walter sighed. He wanted Mulder to feel as comfortable as possible. 

"So are you hungry?" Skinner asked, hefting two sacks of Chinese take out in his arm. 

"A little." 

The second Skinner walked into the kitchen, Mulder darted for his overnight bag. Opening it, he fished inside, looking over his shoulder now and again, until he found his cell phone. Moving to the back of the den, Mulder pressed in Scully's number. 

"Scully?" she answered. 

"Scully, it's me," he whispered back. 

"Mulder? Where are you? And why are you whispering?" 

"I'm at Skinner's, and I'm whispering because I'm on leave." He glanced across the room to make sure the A.D. was still busy. "Listen, I've got to make this quick." He heard Scully sigh on the other end. "Have you ever read Professor Elric Clegg's thesis on psi-ability?" 

"I've heard of it," she replied, curtly. "His theories were disproven by--" 

Mulder broke in as if he hadn't heard a word she'd said. "He claims that there are a few people with psychic abilities so strong that when they're in the presence of another human being it can trigger dormant memories." 

"Mulder, I don't understand. Are you saying you believe Faith Matthews is unlocking blocked memories?" 

"It would explain a lot." 

"I'm on my way to see him now." She hesitated, unsure of whether or not to confide in him further. If she told him about the anomalous blood sample, her partner would probably ditch Skinner and overtake her. 

Mulder looked up. He heard a sound from the kitchen. Skinner must be done, he thought. 

"Gotta go," he hissed into the phone. He turned it off and slipped it into a back pocket. 

Striding across the den, he almost collided with Skinner. Mulder hesitated. 

"Um, hi." He grinned. "Is everything ready? Smells great. I'm starving." 

He dove past Walter's surprised look for the table. Despite his headache, Mulder was already plotting a way to get back on this X-File. 

'I've got to find out what happened to me in that alley,' he thought furiously, 'And fast, before these visions drive me mad!' Even as he was thinking these rebellious thoughts, he gave Skinner his toothiest "innocent me" smile. 

* * *

'This waiting is driving me crazy!' 

Ever since Faith had come from class, his mind had been firmly fixed on discovering all he could about the force hunting him down. He'd been completely spaced out during a graphics meeting, but, thankfully nobody seemed to notice. 

Casting a glance around the office, and taking care that no one was looking, he pulled out the thick and beautiful "Witchcraft and Superstition Among the Celts" book and spread it open across his lap, half concealed by his desk. 

Faith felt certain he'd find the answer in it. He also felt a little better, now that he was working on a way to stop the evil spirit. He started to silently read: 

'The symbol of Mirragan, another name for Cailleach, hails from a Scots/Gaelic word meaning "old woman." Mirragan, the Celtic goddess of battles and magick, whose servants took the shape of ravens and crows. Although the Celts were persecuted for their beliefs, Mirragan was called upon by those seeking victory and power.' 

Faith stared at the symbol with a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. It was a summoning spell. 'Okay,' he wondered silently, 'how do I get rid of it?' The scapula was his only defense, and he wasn't positive it would be enough. 

"Hey, Faith!" 

He jumped at the sound of Maggie's voice. Faith neatly scooted his legs back under the desk to hide the book as she slid into his cubicle. 

"Why are you so jumpy today?" 

He faked a smile. "Caffeine buzz." Faith scanned around the office, then whispered conspiratorially. "Mags, has any one been around here asking questions about me?" 

She stared blankly. 

"Men in black trenchoats?" he prompted. 

"I.R.S.?" she half wondered, then cocked her head to the side. "Don't sweat it, Faith. My credit's worse than yours." 

"No, the Feds," he hissed. "I ran into this one Skeebo yesterday." 

"Was he cute?" 

The question threw him. "I guess," he shrugged, "in an awkward, annoying sort of way." Faith waved his hands, exasperated. "Mags, that's not the point!" 

"Mr. Matthews?" a cool voice called. 

Faith and Maggie turned to find a short, attractive red-haired woman wearing a serious expression and a dark trenchcoat approaching his desk. 

"Faith Matthews?" she repeated. 

"Yes, that's my name," he replied. 

"Special Agent Dana Scully." She flashed her badge. "I need to ask you a few questions." 

Maggie stepped forward. "He sent in his return if that's what you're worried about," she defended him in her own big hearted way. "Faith's on the up and up." 

"Thanks, Mags, but can it," he lightly told her. Neatly closing the book, Faith placed it face down on his desk, then straightened. "What's going on?" he asked the Federal Agent. 

Scully arched an eyebrow at Maggie. The younger woman took the hint with an embarrassed cringe. "Good luck," she whispered to her friend, and scampered away. 

"Did I win the lottery?" asked Faith, barely shielding his frayed nerves. 

She eyed him carefully. The accent and attitude indicated that Faith Matthews could hold his own, but there was also a certain sadness and regret in his eyes that made Scully want to believe he was innocent. She had a gut instinct that he didn't have a cruel bone in his body. But her experiences on the X-Files told her that someone's true nature could be masked. 

Scully's blue eyes locked on the book sitting on the desk. She could just make out the title on the spine. Witchcraft. 

"Are you practicing?" 

"Huh? What?" He followed her eye-line. "Oh, no. Just a little research, that's all." He swiftly pushed the tome aside. 

"This is very important," she said, fixing her gaze back on Faith. 

"Yeah, so's my work." Faith grabbed a file, stood and headed to the back of the office. 

Scully followed him into the copy room, which also held gray cabinets, padded chairs, and three vending machines. 

"Mr. Matthews, I'm here to talk to you about several linked homicides," she explained. "Including Parker McCoy's murder last night." 

Faith's heart thumped painfully in his chest. He noticed the curious glares of his co-workers, and folded his arms. 

"Fine." He frowned, annoyed. "But not here, okay? Can we do this someplace else?" 

"Yes." Scully nodded. 

"I'll tell my boss I have to leave." Faith made to stalk out of the room, but Scully stopped him in the doorjam. 

"There's something else," she told him, quietly. "I have reason to believe that you may have a blood infection." 

Faith tensed and instinctively touched his bandaged arm. "You think I'm sickly?" He gaped at her for a moment, then grinned cheekily. "I don't know where you get your info, lady, but I'm fine. A-okay, over and out." 

"All the same, I still want to have you tested. Just to be sure. Your voluntary co-operation would be appreciated." 

Faith, caught in a maelstrom of emotions--frightened, nervous and angry--followed behind Scully as she made her way through the small crowd that had gathered outside. 

"Look out," he called to the curious onlookers to make room for the Federal Agent. "Nancy Drew's comin' through." 

Scully sighed. This wasn't going to be easy. 

* * *

Dishing out steaming helpings of Kung Pao Chicken onto their plates, Walter couldn't help but think that--despite the circumstances--how nice it was to be sitting down to a meal with Mulder. He'd felt certain that the younger man would bolt at the first opportunity, but to Walter's surprise, he seemed to be accepting his leave of absence in his stride. 

Walter thought that if he could get the Agent to eat and relax that it would take his mind off of the case and his worries. However, he could tell by the way Mulder was chewing his bottom lip more than his food, that he was thinking about both. 

When Skinner poured him a glass of water, Mulder eagerly took a swallow. Anything to distract him from the anxiety growing in his belly. He wanted to be out there working on the case, instead of sitting and stewing over it. And then there was the added distress from his loss of memory and the disturbing visions he was having. 

Mulder ran a hand through his thick hair. Skinner found himself wishing he could do the same thing. He just looked so adorable... Walter cleared his throat and cast about for a distraction from his hair tousling fantasies. 

"Oh, I forgot the egg rolls," he said, glancing at the table's contents. He pushed himself away and headed for the kitchen counter. 

After a few seconds, when Mulder hadn't started eating, Walter looked back and saw him clinging to the edge of the table, his knuckles white with strain. His eyes were closed, and his breath was gusting in and out of him in short, ragged gasps. 

Alarmed by the effects of Mulder's attack, Skinner sprang toward him. 

"What is it, Mulder?" 

Mulder barely heard him through the images that were flooding his mind. 

  * Powerful gloved hands gripping his arms. - His own hands desperately clawing at them. - Lights swirling in the struggle. - Eyes filled with cold detachment. 



Panic. Terror. Pain. Nothing. 

No scream escaped his lips as he was transfixed in a harsh white light. 

Beads of sweat dampened Mulder's face as the image blinked out. Head throbbing, he tightened his aching fingers on the table, which kept him sitting upright. 

Skinner grabbed Mulder's arms to steady him. "What's happening?" he asked, sitting down beside the shaking man. "You're white as a sheet." 

As the effects dissipated, Mulder struggled to collect himself. 

Tentatively, Walter placed his large hand gently on Mulder's forehead. "No fever." 

"I'm not sick," Mulder said. "It's worse." 

Composing himself, Mulder started telling Skinner about the escalating number of visions and the debilitating effects; physical, emotional, and mental. He was near tears at the end, when he confessed that he wasn't sure he could take much more. 

"Something happened in my past." Mulder's voice cracked and he cleared his throat. "Something I've blocked out. I'm seeing fractured images, seeing things my mind doesn't want me to remember." 

Skinner looked puzzled. Taking a long swallow of water, Mulder paused to massage his head. His eyes were wet with tears. "I just can't sit here and do nothing." 

"Patience has never been your strong suit," Walter replied, his brown eyes filled with warmth. 

"No." 

Skinner, his face gentle and soft, crouched beside him. "Mulder, think of all the things that you're going through right now: your mother's illness, this case. You're under too much stress and you've got to give yourself time to recover, to make yourself strong." He gripped Mulder's shoulder. "Everything is going to be fine. Trust me." 

"Thanks," Mulder shyly mumbled. "I hope you're right." 

"Listen, what can I do to make you forget your worries?" Skinner asked. 

"I'm sorry," Mulder replied. "But you know what? There's nothing either of us can do. I think I better get some rest." 

Skinner breathed deeply, regretfully, and nodded. "Of course," he said. "I understand." 

Mulder mentally kicked himself. He felt like he'd offended the A.D. in some way. The man had taken him into his home, was looking after him, and Mulder felt like a jerk--a mental patient jerk--he added to himself. 

"Skinner," Mulder began, "Sir, I--" 

Skinner stopped him by placing a finger on his lips. Mulder felt a sudden jolt, like a zap of electricity as the first hint of attraction shimmied through him. 

"It's Walter," he told him. "Okay?" 

Skinner cradled his face in his hands and kissed him, passionately. The older man's heart leaped when Mulder didn't pull away. Mulder was just as surprised to feel himself lean forward and wrap his arms around the other man's neck. His eyes slid closed. Walter's kisses were overwhelming his senses, and he gave into them completely, as they wrapped him in comfort and warmth. 

Mulder broke the kiss, and looked directly into Skinner's dark, sparkling eyes. "Are you sure?" he asked. 

Walter had never been more certain of anything in his life. "Yes, I'm sure." He nodded, and tenderly ran his hand down the back of Mulder's head and neck. "I want to be with you, and not just in the way that you think. Being alone with you, next to you is enough for me. After you disappeared from the hospital and I heard about the accident, I was so scared I'd never see you again. The thought of not being with you or seeing you, it made me sick to my stomach." 

Mulder found it difficult to form words. He simply had no idea and managed a whispered, "Me, too." 

Walter tenderly brushed the tears away from Mulder's cheeks with his gentle fingers. "You know, you are the only person in this world that I've truly feel connected to," he softly continued. "You know what you want, and you're not afraid to say it. And I know this sounds like a line, but listen to me. Look at me." He lifted Mulder's chin. "I respect you, and I want you to respect me, too." 

"I do." 

Walter brightened. "And I always want you to tell me what you're thinking--always. What's going on up here," he said, pointing to Mulder's head. "And what you're feeling in your heart, in your soul. Always, everything." 

"I will, I always will." Mulder wrapped his arms more tightly around Skinner's waist. He kissed the A.D. deeply, his eyes shut tight. His mind felt blissfully empty of everything except the warmth of those wonderful kisses, and he knew that he'd made the right decision, as impulsive and sudden as it had been. Feelings too long held in check had come to the fore, and it was like a dam bursting. 

Then Walter put his strong arms around the younger man and held him, brushing his hand through Mulder's hair, and kissing the top of his head. 

He helped Mulder stand up and the two men embraced again. Walter ran his hand across the younger man's chest, feeling his nipples harden as he caressed them, and then his hands circled lower across Mulder's stomach and to the top of his slacks. He ground his pelvis into him, and Mulder pressed back. 

Walter smiled and gave him a deep, sensuous kiss. Then he took Mulder's hand and led him toward the stairs. Reaching the top, they turned to the right, toward the A.D.'s bedroom. 

"I've been dreaming about this moment for so long," he said as they reached the door. 

"I've always believed in dreams coming true," Mulder replied softly. 

They crossed the spacious room and he kissed Mulder again as they stood at the edge of the large bed. He slowly sucked on Mulder's delectable bottom lip, running the tip of his tongue along it, then taking it back into his mouth again. At the same time, Walter massaged the younger man's hardening cock through his pants. 

"Oh, god," Mulder breathed heavily, lost in ecstacy. 

His heart started to race, and he felt all the tension and worry ease from his body. He let out an uncontrollable sigh, unable to believe this was happening. For the first time, all of the emotions he'd kept buried and hidden away were unleashed. This was the real Fox Mulder. This was what he was. This was what Walter Skinner wanted. And Walter Skinner was what he wanted. 

Taking things slow and easy, Skinner started to open Mulder's shirt and Mulder followed his movements, anxious now to feel the A.D.'s skin pressing against his own. They slipped their shirts off, and embraced again, tangled in each other's arms with Skinner's hard muscled chest rubbing against Mulder's softer skin. 

Walter's overheated body and overstimulated senses caused him to break out into a slow sweat. He nibbled at the other man's neck, relishing the taste and feel of his skin. 

Wrapping Mulder in a warm hug, Walter pulled him down onto the bed, and gently laid him on his back. He leaned over and began to nibble on the erect, darkened nipples while his hand explored Mulder's beautiful body. His searching hand stopped only when he got to the button on Mulder's slacks. He opened it, then pulled the zipper down, ever so slowly. 

He could feel the moistness of pre-come through the Agent's forest-green boxer briefs and Skinner encircled the growing cock through the material. When his lips switched to Mulder's left nipple, the younger man gave a moan of pleasure. 

Skinner ceased his ministrations long enough to undo and pull off his own trousers and shorts. Mulder raised his pelvis to let Walter draw the rest of his clothing down and then onto the floor. 

In a moment, both men were completely nude, and leaning into each other. Skinner exhaled, drinking in every inch of Mulder's body. His handsome, boyish face; moist lips set in an eternal pout; soft chest; long, sleek legs... and his rigid, mouth-watering penis. 

It was a magnificent sight to behold. Perhaps seven inches long, maybe more, dark hair shrouding the root of his marvelous cock, and hanging below were two glorious orbs. 

Walter wanted, no needed, to feel his cock, to possess it, to make it his own. 

Mulder was feeling a similar sense of awe seeing Skinner for the first time as nature intended. A strong, muscled man with a set of beautifully developed pecs, firm stomach, and a long, thick penis, about nine inches, reaching up toward him. 

The A.D. continued where he had left off in tasting the man he'd longed for. His mouth trailed from Mulder's heaving chest to his navel. Then Walter leaned in to nuzzle his face in Mulder's crotch, all the while gently stroking him. After a fleeting moment of nervous hesitation, Mulder matched him motion for motion until Skinner twisted round into a new position. 

When Walter's tongue finally tasted the prize he'd been waiting for, Mulder writhed with desire and lifted his hips. 

"Please, Walter," he whispered silkily. 

His cock slid to the back of Skinner's throat, and filled the former Marine's mouth. He began the long, slow withdrawal, stopping before he reached the tip of the pulsing shaft and then taking Mulder back into his mouth again. Skinner reached beneath the Agent and grabbed his perfectly rounded bottom, pulling him in deeper. Walter licked and swirled his tongue around Mulder's cock, gently teased it with his teeth, and sped up the rhythm. 

With a hoarse groan of pleasure, Mulder's slender hips rose and fell, and his cock slid in and out, in and out. 

Then Skinner felt the fantastic warmth of Mulder's own mouth as his lips enveloped his entire length, bringing them both to a perfect sixty-nine. It was Skinner's turn to tremble and moan. Walter felt dizzy, from both the excitement of making love to Mulder and the mind-bending sexual action. 

"Oh, yes, Fox, yes," he growled. 

As far as Skinner was concerned, words could not describe what Mulder did to him, and no song existed to express how he felt. No one else in the world could feel the same pleasure he felt now. And it kept mounting, higher and higher into the stratosphere. 

Mulder was bringing Skinner to the point of rapturous explosion and then holding him back, before bringing his desire to another fever pitch. Over and over Mulder did this, till Walter was begging for release, and only then did he let the older man go and Skinner arched his back and thrust his cock deep into Mulder's throat. 

An overpowering climax exploded and burst through Mulder's senses. Wave after wave of pleasure swept through Mulder's body from head to toe, and when it subsided, he felt a calm like he'd never known, and he felt love for this man that surpassed anything he'd ever felt before. 

They laid joined together, Mulder's cock softening in Skinner's mouth, his head to one side of the younger man's own. Walter maneuvered until they were laying face to face, on their sides. Mulder held him close, and Skinner kissed him, slipping his tongue into Mulder's mouth in a long, passionate kiss full of love and promises. 

* * *

Faith's nerves were on edge as he sat, growing more and more antsy, absently picking at the band-aid on his arm where Agent Scully had carefully taken a blood sample. 

Now she sat across a table from him in a claustrophobic room, her lips tight and her expression serious. "Can you think of any reason why Parker McCoy might have wanted to contact you?" she asked for clarification. 

Faith clenched his fists, not sure what to say. "No, I haven't seen him in a year." 

Scully cast a doubtful glance at him. "Do you know what this is?" From a folder she showed him a photo-copy of the symbol painted on the dorm room floor. "This symbol?" 

He swallowed, then whispered: "No, I don't." 

Scully was certain he was lying, but why? To all intents and purposes he outwardly appeared to be a typical example of a scared young man, but what was he hiding on the inside? 

"Would you like to tell me what happened between you and Agent Mulder?" she asked, pointedly. 

"Why?" Faith bristled. "What did he say?" Inside he was seething. She seemed to be implying that he'd tried to off Mulder, or something. 

"I'd like to hear it from you. My partner believes that something," Scully hesitated before continuing, "some force killed your friends and now it's hunting you." 

"Like the mob?" He shook his head, defiantly. "Nobody's gonna break Faith Matthews' knee caps." 

Scully sighed. "Faith, I really want to help you, but you're going to have to help me first." She folded her hands and leaned forward, hoping to win his confidence. "All I want is an honest answer." 

"That's all I have," he sincerely replied. 

"Can you tell me what happened a year ago at Winterborne School?" She read from the case file before her. "Around the time of your parents' deaths?" 

She didn't want to appear insensitive, but if she didn't get to the truth soon, someone else could die. 

Faith visibly shivered. He went quiet and shifted in the uncomfortable chair, trying to keep a hold on his feistiness, but gradually felt it slipping. 

"I wasn't the ideal high school student," he admitted, a hint of sadness in his voice. "Cut classes, stayed out late, partied with my friends. Pretty much anything they wanted to do." 

Scully gave a small smile of understanding. "Actually, that sounds pretty familiar." 

She expected a look suggesting he found it hard to believe, instead his eyes were welling up with tears. Scully held her breath; she'd finally gotten him to open up. 

"Yeah, but I never meant to--" His voice trailed off. Faith shook away the memories and narrowed his eyes. "Are you and Charlie Chan on the same wavelength?" He threw his hands up in a burst of nervous energy. "I'm no angel, but I'd never hurt any one." 

Scully's eyebrows drew together thoughtfully. "All right, but would you like to explain how Agent Mulder ended up unconcious in an alley?" 

"Do ya think I did somethin' to him?" he blurted angrily. "Okay, Jessica Fletcher, I'm gonna give it to ya straight. He ran into me at the hospital and started blabbermouthin' that he knew what had happened and that somethin' was gonna kill me." He paused, cocked his head to the side, and asked, "Is he always like that?" 

"Most of the time, yes," she replied, clearing her throat. "You were saying?" 

"So Slim Jim follows me outside, and the next thing I know--bam!" He clapped his hands together dramatically. "We've got a flock of birds on our tails, which nearly ripped us to shreds, by the way." 

"Birds?" Scully repeated, mostly to herself. The claw marks on all four victims, and Mulder's earlier comment about the crime scene being littered with feathers sprang instantly to mind. Her eyes locked for a moment on Faith's bandaged arm. 

"You have to admit that sounds very strange," she remarked. 

"All right. It's mystery number one to me, but it's the truth. Look, I'm not just some crazy person," Faith protested. "You asked for the truth, well this is the truth--This really happened." 

For a moment Scully couldn't help but think how much that statement reminded her of Mulder. She was startled from her thoughts as her cell phone rang. 

"Just a second," she told Faith, then answered, "Scully?" 

"Agent Scully," Patricia McMillian's tense voice came down the line. "The blood sample is a definite match for the previous batch." 

Dana straightened and turned away. "Did you find anything else?" 

"Yes, the blood is infected with what appears to be a virulent disease," the lab technician replied hurriedly. "The likes of which I can't identify. The R.N.A. is actually replicating the strain, but it also seems to be strengthening the white cells." Patricia paused, her voice becoming seriously worried. "Agent Scully, should we inform the C.D.C.?" 

"What?" Scully, lost in thought, tore her eyes away from Faith. 

"I don't believe it's contagious," Patricia went on. "In fact, it's the most amazing genetic material I've ever seen." 

Scully sighed, thinking deeply. Then, having come to a decision, replied: "Let's keep this strictly between us for now. I'd like to have a look at it myself." 

After she clicked off the phone, Scully turned back to find a look of panic crossing Faith's face. 

"What's with the dire?" he asked. "Am I really sick?" 

"Um, no." Scully gathered her thoughts. "At least I don't think so. I'm sure you don't have anything to worry about, but I'll keep you posted." 

Faith blinked. "Are you gonna lock me up?" he wondered, then in a flash smarted, "'cause, ya know, I could use the vacation." 

As much as she wanted to keep him close by, Scully did not have enough evidence to hold him. 

She shook her head no. "You're free to go, Mr. Matthews. Your friend, Luke Palmer, gave a statement to the police detective," she began to explain. 

Faith broke in, concerned. "How is he?" 

Scully scanned the hastily typed police report. "Mild concussion. He still doesn't recall much about the incident, but what he did gave you an alibi." 

Faith sighed with relief, both for Luke and himself. 

"I'm advising you not to leave town and to stay in contact," she continued firmly. 

"No problem." He stood up, anxious to leave. 

"What about your arm?" she asked. If the scrap of clothing sent to analysis was any indication, it had been a serious wound. "If you don't mind, I'd like to have a look at it." 

He shrugged. "Oh, it healed hours ago," he said. 

Catching the look of incredulity Scully threw at him, Faith reached down and whipped off the bandage. 

Underneath, there was no sign of there ever having been an injury. The tissue had mended perfectly. 

* * *

Part Seven: Dreaming (As Blondie Once Said) Is Free 

Wrapped up snug in the arms of his very own warm, strong teddy bear, Fox Mulder felt pure contentment. All of the earlier tension had completely left his body. 

Part of his mind couldn't get over this extraordinary day. One minute he was visiting his mother in the hospital, the next he found himself admitted there with a serious case of lost time and a pounding headache, and now somehow he was in bed with Walter Skinner. If someone had told him this would happen, Mulder would have sworn it were dream or an X-File at the very least. 

He put all of these thoughts away as their naked bodies joined, full length, from head to toe, and stirred more excitement within the two lovers; in a few seconds they were both becoming hard again. 

Walter was in pure heaven. The last time he had felt anything remotely close to this level of happiness was in the early days with Sharon. But what he felt now for Mulder exceeded even that; it exceeded everything he could have ever imagined. 

Surprised but not the least displeased by the younger man's fierce, deep kissing and nibbling, Skinner reached down to grasp Mulder's cock. A moan of desire swept from kiss-swollen lips, and Walter spread his legs just wide enough to allow his lover's cock to fit between them while he repositioned his own hardness against Mulder's stomach. 

They started moving in perfect rhythm with one another, grinding into each other's flesh very slowly, leisurely. Mulder was very comfortable with this, content to share their closeness, happy to take it slow and easy, allowing them both to rest a bit, even while they were starting up the incline of arousal again. 

Although Walter had experienced sex like this before--particularly during his Marine-pre-married-pre-FBI days--and enjoyed it immensely, he was heading toward the point of total combustion, and he wanted to go all the way with the handsome Agent. He wanted to feel Mulder deep within his body, and yearned to bring Mulder to the highest peak of ecstacy. 

Skinner's voice sounded slightly hoarse when he asked him, "Mulder, do you want to make love to me? I need to feel you inside of me. I want you to have me completely." 

"God, yes, Walter," Mulder replied, his own voice cracking emotionally. 

They disentangled themselves enough for Skinner to open and reach into the bedside table for a pack of condoms and a large tube of lube. Mulder waggled his eyebrows suggestively at the A.D. 

Walter smiled. "I was a boy scout," he drawled seductively. "We were taught to always be prepared." 

"That's a policy to live by." Mulder returned his hands to Skinner's warm body, caressing his back with one hand while Fondling his cock with the other, gingerly at first, and then, as a heated groan slipped from his lover, with more purpose. 

With each stroke of Mulder's hand, shockwaves of pleasure rippled through the older man's body. Walter ripped open a condom packet with his teeth, and slowly worked the latex down onto the Agent's penis. Then, he squeezed out a generous dollop of the lube into his palms and spread it around and over Mulder's rockhard shaft. He worked the clear liquid over the other man's cock until it was nearly too slippery to grasp. 

Skinner moved to raise himself up, half standing, half sitting, with his ass almost directly in front of Mulder's face. Mulder eagerly took the rest of the lube and, putting the salve into his hands first, to warm it, he then ran a trail along the cleft and down between the luscious globes. With first one finger, then two, he spread the lube inside of his lover. 

Walter bit his lip and groaned. He wrapped a large paw around Mulder's flexing cock, feeling the pulse of excitement combined with expectation which caused it to throb in his hand. 

Moving into a new position, and still holding the younger man's penis, Walter carefully guided and slowly lowered himself, and sat down on his lap. 

Mulder's breathing was heavy as a magnificent warm tightness engulfed him. 'Contact'; his mind swam; 'the eagle has landed'. 

He wrapped his arms around Walter's waist as the A.D. relished what he'd wanted for so long: the feeling of Fox Mulder inside of him. 

"W...Walter," he exclaimed loudly, "this is incredible!" 

Skinner couldn't have agreed more. He raised himself up until he could just feel the tip of Mulder's cock still inside him, and then lowered himself again. When he continued, Mulder took hold of his hips and helped lower and raise his body--acting in tandem, they found a pace that suited them both. 

Making sure his lover's cock stayed within his sheath, Skinner decided it was time that he took charge. Pressing his hands down on the bed, Walter leaned his sweat-slickened brow close to Mulder's face and pushed and pulled until he felt the Agent's cock swell even larger inside. Mulder's breath started to come faster and Walter moved his hips to keep up with his increased speed. 

After one last plunge, when Mulder had almost pulled his cock out of the older man completely, he pushed forward with passion, trying to bury his shaft as deep as possible into Skinner's fiery canal. 

Mulder's mouth dropped open and he raised himself off the bed, erupting with a force that shook Skinner's body along with his. After a few more short thrusts, Mulder slid himself out and clutched his lover tightly. 

Skinner took the basking man gently into his arms, caressing Mulder's flushed face, kissing him lightly first on the bottom lip, then on the top curve, then on his eyes, and finally a full, deep throat kiss of desire. 

He felt Mulder's hand travel down his solid chest, and he released him as Mulder put his hand around the A.D.'s still hard cock. His head followed his hand to Skinner's lap, and soon, Mulder's dark head was moving up and down. 

Letting the large cock slip from his exquisite mouth, Mulder suddenly sat up. He looked at Skinner with eyes blazing with lust and said huskily, "It's your turn, big guy." 

He reached for and handed Skinner the tube of gel and wriggled around until he was kneeling on all fours above Walter's body. Skinner uncapped the tube and spread the salve on his hands. 

He paused. 

He wanted to savor this moment, treasure it, enjoy the breathtaking vision of Mulder's beautiful body ready for his attention. 

Mulder arched his back in expectation, a feline motion that made Skinner shiver, and he could hold back no longer. He massaged his lover's round ass cheeks, spreading them apart until he could taste the tight, pink opening. Above him, the Agent moaned seductively while he tore open a condom wrapper with trembling fingers. 

While he started to fill Mulder with his glistening gelled fingers, Mulder took more gel and lubricated Skinner's sheathed cock. Walter pushed in a third finger as far as he could, while murmuring words of encouragement to his Fox. Mulder pushed back, making his intentions clear: he wanted more. 

Sliding out from under him, Walter gently pushed Mulder onto his back and lifted his long legs over his own broad shoulders. He glanced down and pulled the spent condom off Mulder's hardening penis. Then, Skinner leaned forward, guiding his swollen cock to its target. 

Mulder stiffened for a moment at the large intrusion and Walter waited until he relaxed again before pressing on. He slowly entered him completely, resting the length and weight of his body on his lover's. Gradually, Skinner raised and lowered himself, and, soon Mulder was matching his rhythm. 

It was the most amazing feeling of Walter Skinner's life. He instinctively knew he was reaching the point of mind-shattering climax, AND he pumped faster, letting out a deep, long moan as his cock released its contents into the condom buried deep inside of Mulder. 

After a few more thrusting convulsions, Mulder came once more himself, and Walter collapsed on top of him, spent and panting, smothering him with scorching kisses. 

Mulder's glazed eyes made out Walter smiling at him. The older man held him possessively, just the way he needed to be held. 

Walter simply gazed back into the depths of his hazel eyes, fusing their souls together just as they had connected their bodies together earlier. 

Fox Mulder's sigh was full of love and contentment. In less than five minutes he was asleep. 

He dreamed. 

* * *

Winds blew and shifted clouds across the twilight sky. He was standing in a park, before a rippling pond, flanked by swaying trees. The setting was serene, peaceful; yet, he felt something was wrong. 

The air reeked of death. High atop jutting stones, large black birds were perching and watching him. 

From the water a mist gathered and rolled, growing thicker than the stuffing inside a down comforter. 

Gripped with fear, he backed away and ran, but the fog chased him. It swirled around and he found no where else to run. He turned. 

A ghostly, gaunt figure rose straight up and began to glide eerily through the fog. The more the old woman moved, the more fog cleared out of her path. 

She was coming closer. 

She was coming for him. 

The crone's black, powerful, evil eyes looked at him. She smiled. 

"All alone in this world," she rasped. "Did they tell you the secret? You have no idea of what's to come." 

Fear froze him to the spot. 

"You foolish child!" she shrieked. "Your death with give me life!" 

The fog crept over and covered his scream. 

Faith woke up fast, gasping and disoriented. He gazed blearily around his loft and took several, short calming breaths. 

A nightmare. It was just a nightmare. 

He barely even remembered leaving Special Agent Miss Interrogator; visiting Luke in the hospital, which had been a big mistake--Faith groaned at the thought; coming home, showering and changing into jeans and the black T-shirt he now had on, let alone dropping off so fast. 

Outside the golden rays of the sun were disappearing fast and the first stars were beginning to appear. Faith felt a surge of panic. He'd lost precious time! 

Pulling himself off the bed, he rubbed at his eyes. The TV was still aglow, except instead of an old rerun of "The Night Stalker," a hyper Australian dude was holding a dangerous black snake which threatened to strike repeatedly. 

Faith was about to switch it off when something caught his attention. He grabbed the remote and turned up the volume. 

"This little beauty won't just run out of the bush and strike at ya for no good reason," the energized Aussie was explaining. "They strike only as a defense mechanism. That's the only way they can protect themselves." 

He released the snake and it slithered with an irritated hiss back into the bush. 

"Now, when deadly snakes wander into populated areas the only humane way to deal with one," the man walked over to a cage, "is to use a trap like this. You lure them in with a snack. Like a mouse..." 

Faith absently glanced at a set of crystals sitting atop the console for decoration, then he peered closely at the screen. He blinked. His heart thumped excitedly. 

"Or any other critter you might want to catch..." 

Faith's eyes widened. "That's it!" he shouted. Switching off the set, he tossed the remote back on the bed and hurried down a few steps toward a set of shelves crammed with books. In his frenzied search, he pulled book after book down until he found the one Sophie had given him for his birthday. 

Faith plopped down on the floor and started rapidly thumbing through "Mystical Properties Of Crystals." He stopped on a page, scanned it, and exhaled deeply. Faith looked up at his myriad crystal collection. With a slightly trembling hand he pulled down a bright clear stone. It captured the light and cast rainbow prisms along the wall. His eyes glistened. 

It was almost too fantastic to be true. The answer had been staring at him the entire time. He had a chance, a real chance to stop Mirragan's evil spirit. 

Faith chewed on his bottom lip; a bad habit of his which meant he was thinking furiously. He came to a decision. It would work, he assured himself. It had to. 

Scrambling back onto his feet, he headed back toward the bedroom. A crash of thunder and lightning made him pause on the steps. The soft light of the bedside table lamps flickered briefly. A sudden chill crept over him. Faith darted for the large picture windows and gasped at what he saw. 

Every streetlight along the street went black, along with every neon sign and traffic signal and even lights that had been on in windows in the opposite building. It was suddenly pitch-black outside, and the moon was covered with rain clouds. 

'I've got to do this fast,' Faith thought as he hurried along. 

Outside a long streak of lightning illuminated the building across the street, and the watching eyes of hundreds of malevolent black birds perching there. 

* * *

Across town, another man was dreaming. 

Light. Blinding white light penetrated his skin, his pores, his very being. He couldn't move his arms or legs, and he couldn't understand why. He heard weeping and panic rose in him. 

He opened his eyes. The blazing light made him shy away, squinting, until two large gray eyes blocked the beam. Below the eyes stretched a mask of white paper. 

More weeping, then a slow sad moan. He was positive he heard someone calling. But exactly why they needed his faith, he couldn't tell. 

Wings beating. 

Then a hazy mist clouded his vision. A face appeared, its features contorted and grotesque. A stream of deathly-white hair matted with dust and cobwebs. The old woman leered at him. 

"Dead by midnight!" the sinister wraith screamed. 

Suddenly, something gave Mulder a jolt. It sounded like a voice, a panicked shout, in the back of his mind. He pulled himself out of the nightmare and into a sitting position. 

"Oh, my god," he whispered, his eyes darting left to right. "I remember. Faith." 

"What?" Skinner gasped, confused. He sat up like a shot, having heard the younger man cry out, and having felt his dreaming legs kick him. "Mulder, are you all right?" 

Mulder had completely forgotten about Faith Matthews. But now, everything came flooding back. He had been arguing with him. Mulder had been sure the young man was causing his visions. But then they'd been chased down an alley by a swarm of birds. Just as he was about to be killed, Faith had pushed him out of harm's way. Faith had saved his life, but, what about Faith himself? Had he gotten away? Or was he like the other four victims: mutilated, dead, reduced to ashes? 

"Fox," Skinner said, his voice worried and sympathetic. "What is it?" 

"I remember what happened," he said excitedly. "How I ended up in the hospital." 

Walter gently caressed his lover's right arm. "Just take it easy and go slowly," he said soothingly. 

The phone rang. 

Skinner was torn between answering it and caring for his lover. He eventually reached past his wirerims on the bedside table for the receiver. 

"Hello?" he answered. 

"Sir, how is Mulder?" Scully asked. 

"Agent Scully, now isn't the best time--" 

Mulder broke in and snatched the phone away, much to Walter's surprise. "Scully," he said breathlessly. "I know what happened. Faith Matthews is not responsible for the murders--" 

It was Scully's turn to cut him off. "Mulder, I know. I met him earlier at WSR Graphics." 

"He's alive?" Mulder sighed with relief. 

"Very much so," Scully assured him. "As a matter of fact, I brought him in for questioning." 

"What?" Mulder could imagine the feisty young man he'd met had probably blown a gasket over being hauled in like a common criminal or something. "Scully, that was the worst thing you could've done." 

"Mulder, I went all the way over to the South Side to a loft he rents, and when he wasn't home, I had to bring him in," she protested. 

He zoned out for a moment, mind racing, and then said, "Scully, where is he now?" 

"Presumably back home. Why?" 

"No reason." And with that reply, he hung up the phone. 

Walter kept a close eye on his lover. Mulder was chewing on a thumbnail, and the A.D. could almost see the gears spinning in his mind. 

"What was all that about?" he asked. 

But Mulder had shifted his attention back to his nightmare. It wasn't just a freak coincidence; he was certain he'd had that dream for a reason. And it had been disturbingly real, in that full-on-THX-surround-sound way, just like his earlier attacks. 

A sudden image flashed by his eyes so fast he wasn't quite sure what he had seen. 

The symbol, he realized with growing excitement. The symbol painted on the dorm room floor... 

"I know where I've seen it!" he shouted. 

"Mulder?" 

Mulder recovered quickly. "Walter, I need your help," he said. 

"Anything, babe," his lover replied, and Mulder knew that he meant it. 

"We need to get to my apartment, now," he said, already out of bed and dressing. "Please, it's vitally important. Literally life and death." 

"Wha-Mulder? Hold on." Skinner got to his feet. He took Mulder by the arms and gently pulled him close. "Do you wanna tell me what's going on, or do I have to guess?" 

"If I'm gonna keep Faith alive, I've got to find him now." 

"Faith?" 

Mulder quickly explained about him, giving the A.D. the Reader's Digest version of this X-File. Skinner had every reason to believe that Mulder was still not well enough to go haring off into the night. Mulder was on leave, and Walter was determined to see that he stayed with him. He'd just found the love of his life, and he wasn't about to lose him. 

As if reading his thoughts, Mulder said softly, "Walter, I'm fine now. I promise." He shrugged into his jeans, pausing only to check that his cell phone was still in the back pocket. "My headache's gone. Thanks to you." He smiled. 

"I can't help worrying about you," Skinner admitted. 

"I know," Mulder said, his eyes becoming watery. He slipped on a sweatshirt. "But I've gotta help Faith. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't be here with you now." 

Walter frowned. If the boy was in danger, it couldn't hurt to try to help him. 

"All right," Skinner conceded as he tousled Mulder's hair. "I'll drive." 

* * *

**PART EIGHT: LOGIC, LET ME INTRODUCE YOU TO THIS WINDOW**

It hadn't taken Skinner long to drive to Alexandria, especially with Mulder's boundless energy pushing him along. He wondered if a part of him, some caveman-like mentality, was really hurrying so that he could drag Mulder back to bed and hold the handsome Agent tightly in his arms. 

Bursting into the dimly lit apartment, Mulder turned on a lamp, said a quick "Hiya" to his goldfish, then dove into a messy array of books. 

Skinner closed the door, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and moved behind Mulder to look at the books with their dog-eared pages that his new lover was laying out on the coffee table. 

"What are we looking for?" he inquired gruffly. 

"This." From his back pocket Mulder produced the now crinkled polaroid picture of the Winterborne dorm and the blood red circle in the shot. "I told Scully I'd seen it someplace before," he continued, sounding slightly out of breath, "and I'm about 90%--no, make that 99%--sure it's in one of these." 

Skinner trusted his lover's instincts completely; if Mulder thought the answer was in one of these books, then it was. Kneeling beside him, the A.D. began perusing the titles. 

He read aloud: "'Cults of the New World,' 'Loch Ness And Other Myths,' 'The Ancient and Worshipful Law of Galli--'" he broke off and fixed Mulder with an amused chocolate brown stare. "Did you send for the Time Life Occult Series?" 

"Yeah." Mulder nodded, thoroughly absorbed in his speed reading. "And I got a free phone with them," he added, with a wink. 

Walter moved closer to Mulder, not only to be near to him, but also to study the photo while searching the books. Was there anything sexier than watching this man at work? he wondered dreamily, then had to smile at the romantic thought. 

After several minutes, when it seemed as if they were on a literal wild goose chase, Mulder shouted "Eureka!" 

"Eureka?" Skinner repeated hesitantly. 

"I believe so. Not in its true sense. After all it's Greek for jumping into a hot bath." Mulder grinned, immensely pleased with himself. "Just look at that." 

Walter peered at the identical eye symbol printed on a yellowed page. "Hmm," he sighed. 

"I think it's Gaelic," Mulder mused. 

"Can you translate?" 

"Of course." Mulder waggled his eyebrows, and then in his best Xena imitation droned, "I have many skills." 

Walter Skinner had no doubt. 

"The icon's called the Mark of Mirragan." Mulder read further, his excitement nearly palpable in his rapid breathing. "It's a summoning spell for..." 

"Mirragan?" Walter finished. 

"Well, yeah. Somehow those boys must have triggered the beginning of the spell." Mulder's bright eyes scanned more of the text. "Uhm, the spirit of Mirragan is trying to manifest itself, to come into being." 

"How?" With Mulder, Skinner had learned a long time ago to listen, follow along, and then ask questions. 

A grim shadow passed over Mulder's face as he read that the flocking crows and ravens were the spirit's servants. "It's just as I thought." He looked up at Walter. "It feeds on life itself. The death of each boy is manifesting it, feeding it." He threw his arms around Skinner's waist and hugged him. "We found it." 

"Wait a minute." Skinner held up his hands. "An evil spirit on the loose is not a reason to celebrate." 

Mulder immediately stopped smiling. "Oh, right." He did a double-take. "Wait, you believe me?" 

"Of course I believe you," Skinner replied, his eyes soft and warm. 

Breaking into a crooked grin, Fox Mulder felt himself falling in love with the A.D. all over again. 

Walter glanced back at the icon. "So we need to stop it. But how?" 

"Okay, its killed everyone involved in the sance except for Faith Matthews," Mulder said, thinking furiously. He flipped through the pages. He didn't see any way of shutting down the summoning spell. 

Tossing the book aside in frustration, Mulder began pacing back and forth. 'Okay', he told himself, 'surely there's got to be a way out of this. But how?' He flopped back down on the couch, a body at rest while his mind raced. 

Skinner opined, "If we get him out of danger, and into a safe house, it would buy some time at least, wouldn't it?" 

"Good plan," Mulder enthused. "Let's go." 

Jumping to his feet, he headed for the door. There was an ominous rumble of thunder and a crash of lightning through the shaded windows, and Mulder paused. 

He had a terrible sinking feeling in the pit of his belly about he and Skinner going together. The vicious birds were probably still on the loose, and Mirragan had yet to achieve full manifestation. He could not allow the spirit to come into being, nor could he willfully put his lover--'Gosh,' he thought, 'yes, he is _my_ lover'--in danger. 

"Wait." He avoided eye contact with Skinner when he uttered, "I'm not sure where Faith is." Mulder darted for his phone. "I'll check with Scully." 

"Good idea," Walter agreed. 

Mulder dialed a number, keeping his back to the older man. A short while later he replaced the receiver with an exagerrated groan. 

"Blast! I can't get through," he exclaimed. "Her phone's out. Must be on account of the storm." He made his way back toward the door. 

Skinner frowned, puzzled. "I'll come with you." 

At this, Mulder did face him. "No, I need you to find Scully. If Faith isn't home, she may know where he is." 

"Mulder," the A.D. began. This idea did not appeal to him in the slightest. 

"Please, Walter," Mulder urged him. "Go try to find Scully while I see if Faith is at home." He sighed, and rubbed at the back of his neck. "I think I'm going to have my hands full with him, and it's probably best if we don't both charge in after him." He searched the older man's face, then added, "We don't have a lot of time." 

Skinner took Mulder's hands and kissed him gently. His dark eyes serious and concerned, he said, "Call me the second you find him." 

Mulder felt relieved. He broke into a sardonic grin. "Look at me," he chuckled dryly. "Slipping into Special Agent mode. I'm sure this wasn't what you had in mind for our first night together." 

"Hey." Walter held him tighter. "Special Agent Fox Mulder and the X-Files are both a part of who you are." 

"Yeah, it's just..." Mulder hesitated. "I know how...obsessive I can be. How crazy my life is: bad hours, frequent bruising." He exhaled and blew his bangs away from his recent war wounds, then continued, "conspiracy theories, aliens..." 

Actually, Walter thought, Mulder wouldn't be Mulder if he weren't dashing off after monsters hiding in the dark. And, quite frankly, he wouldn't have it any other way. He told him so. 

"Fox," Walter said with love, "if you led a perfectly normal life, you wouldn't be half as crazy as you are." He grinned. "I've gotta have that. I gotta have it all. There's no part of you that I'm not in love with." 

Mulder looked up at him, his hazel eyes shining. Walter ran a thick finger down the Agent's nose, then leaned in to kiss him softly on the lips. 

"Be careful," he told Mulder. 

"Hey, it's me." Mulder smiled a little, then headed out of the apartment. As soon as he stepped into the hall, he took a deep breath, then reached for his cell phone. After a pause he said, "Danny, I need you to trace an address for me." 

* * *

Slipping on a dark red leather jacket, Faith stalked through his loft throwing clothing and anything else essential that he thought he might need into a duffel bag. As long as he stayed here he was putting everyone's life at risk and that was something he could not do. He'd find somewhere nice and isolated and just deal, one way or another, he thought grimly. 

A sudden insistent knocking made him jump. He sighed. "Who is it?" 

"Fox Mulder," answered the agent. "C'mon, Faith, let me in. I've got to see you now." 

'I just can't catch a break!' Faith cringed. "Ah, no thanks," he called to the door. "I gave at the office, pal." 

For a second or two there was complete silence, then Mulder's voice came through even louder and more insistently. 

"Faith, either you let me in or I'll just stand out here and make a big scene in front of all your neighbors." He paused. "As a matter of fact, there's a nice little old lady staring at me right now..." 

Groaning with exasperation, Faith ran a hand through his hair and hurried to answer the door. There stood Mulder, smiling smugly in the hallway, with not one soul in sight. 

"You're a panic, you know that?" Faith said, taking him by the arm and hauling him inside. Closing the door, he turned his blazing hazel eyes on the Agent. "Well, well, well, it's the F.B.I." 

He looked quite different in his civvies, Faith thought ruefully, although the scratch marks on his forehead stood out lividly. Folding his arms, Faith strode past him. "How's your head?" 

"Still there." Mulder rapped his knuckles against the side of his temple. "Are you okay?" he asked, frowning. He could see that Faith was totally annoyed with him. "You look mad. Not that I'd blame you." 

"Am I okay?" Faith repeated. "We were trapped in a Hitchcock movie, remember?" 

"Yes," Mulder began, then corrected himself. "Actually, no. I didn't remember until a little while ago. My boss has been looking after me and--" 

"What a hero!" Faith snapped, cutting him off. "Well, while you were traipsing off to La La Land, your Betty partner hauled me outta work for questioning." He irritably shrugged a shoulder. "She acted like I was trying to fit you with cement shoes or somethin'." 

Eighty-Six that, Mulder thought. He's not just mad, he's pissed off. 

"I'm sorry about that," the Agent replied. "I wish I could have been there. I was actually worried about you." 

Faith scowled. "What did you do, wake up this morning and say, 'Oh, I wonder what happened to my good friend Faith?' And your care-giver rolled over and said, 'Who?'" 

"Faith, it wasn't like that," Mulder said in a quiet voice, thinking he should be angry with the way Faith was mocking his new-found relationship with Walter, but only feeling concern for the young man, as well as guilt over the way he'd been treated. 

"Well, maybe that's why you're so steamed," muttered Faith. 

"I was unconscious," Mulder reminded him. "You saved my life." 

Faith hesitated, then said, "Don't worry about it. Don't put a halo on me." Feeling uncomfortable, he made to move toward the bed and finish packing. 

"I promised to help you, and that's what I'm going to do." Mulder followed in his footsteps. "My partner and I specialize in cases like this: the paranormal, the unexplained. Tell me about the sance. What did you do?" 

"It's what I didn't do, okay?" Faith flung over his shoulder. 

Mulder pounced. "And what was that?" 

When Faith stubbornly refused to answer, the Agent continued. "I think you tried to stand up to your friends that night. Did they hurt you, is that it?" Mulder gently took Faith by the arm and wheeled him round. "C'mon, tear down the wall. Talk to me." Mulder looked him directly in the eye. "You can't keep what happened bottled up inside forever." 

"Whether I can or I can't, you can mind your own business." Faith angrily shook him off. "I'll deal with this myself." 

Turning away, he marched to the back of the loft. Mulder moved after the fuming young man to plead his case. 

"You're not alone here." Mulder was blunt to save time. "I want to help you. Just give me a chance, all right?" 

If not for the deadly situation, Faith would've laughed. "You know for somebody who wants to help me, you've landed me in a heap of trouble, Fox Mulder." Faith narrowed his eyes at the Agent, and said scathingly, "Fox? What the hell kind of a name is Fox, anyway?" 

"I don't think you want to get into that debate, Faith," Mulder countered pointedly. 

Faith sighed, shook his head, and went back to packing. 

"Woah, hang on." Mulder held up a hand. "Are you going somewhere?" 

"Yes," he answered simply. 

Mulder heaved a long, frustrated sigh. How could he make him see reason? Pursing his lips, he gave Faith his Special Agent don't-dick-around stare. 

Faith didn't even flinch. 

"You can't run," Mulder said firmly. "You're like a walking lightning rod and you know it, Faith! As soon as you step outside of that door, Mirragan will kill you." 

Faith stopped to glare at him. "How do you know about Mirragan?" he asked. 

"I read a lot," Mulder replied, then swiftly added, "Faith, ever since I first met you, I've been suffering from visions that I can't explain, but I sure as hell think that you can give me some answers." 

"Hello? Is your brain wrapped in a fog?" Faith wondered. "I told ya, I don't know what you're talkin' about." He turned away once more. "I'm sorry," he continued, his voice slightly trembling, "but I've gotta take care of this mess fast before somebody else gets hurt." 

Mulder, having lost all of his patience, replied hotly, "You handling this yourself, is that how you rationalize what murdered your friends, put Luke Palmer in the hospital, and nearly killed us?" 

Incensed, Faith threw a pair of sweat pants back on the bed and whirled round. "There's the door. You can show yourself out." 

'Well, I handled that nicely,' Mulder groaned inwardly. He exhaled deeply, realizing that he'd gone one step too far. He reminded himself that this was a smart aleck kid who was scared, and who also used good comebacks to veil his true feelings. 

"Faith, I'm sorry. I was a big jerk," he said, trying to smooth things over. 

"That's the least of my worries right now, my friend," Faith replied uneasily. 

"What do I have to do?" Mulder asked, turning on all his charm. "Admit that I'm really an escaped mental patient posing as a Federal Agent? All I want to do is help you. Really, I'm sorry." 

Faith hesitated, then gave Mulder a pointed stare. "Good." He nodded. "Because you don't wanna mess with this Jersey boy." His eyes turned liquid. He had enough guilt on his heart without Agent Big-Mouth adding to it. "There's a time and a place for certain things in this world, you understand?" 

Mulder nodded yes. "If I were you, I'd probably go off half-cocked myself," he admitted. 

Faith flashed him a weak, lopsided grin. His heart was still thundering, but on some level he knew that Mulder was right. He couldn't handle this alone. 

"So do we have a truce?" the Agent carefully asked. 

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," Faith cautioned. "I don't wanna hear any more lip about me being psychic, okay? 'Cause I'm here to tell ya, me and that Stupendous Yappi ain't got nothin' in common." He raised his eyebrows. "Capeche?" 

"You drive a hard bargain." Feeling himself smiling, Mulder added, "You got it." 

With the tension between them lifted, Faith sighed. "C'mon, and let me tell ya how we're gonna stop this nightmare." He led the older man over to a small, black coffee table beside a corner sofa. 

"I'm all ears," Mulder replied. 

"Don't sell yourself short," zinged Faith. 

"Whatever we do, let's do it fast." 

"Very good." Faith smiled. He waved a hand as he talked. "I've already checked out what's comin' down the pike, and I figure I've got two hits in this ball game: taking care of this and praying for a miracle." With a mock drum-roll, he added, "Here's the homerun." 

"Where? Show me." Mulder had never heard anyone use that many baseball references in one breath, but being a fan, he appreciated it nevertheless. 

"These crystals." Faith placed a clear-glass stone in Mulder's open palm. "Arranged in a circle they should zap and trap Mirragan faster than a cucarache in a roach motel," he explained, wearing a proud smile. 

Mulder looked taken aback, as if he were seeing Faith for the very first time. 'There's obviously more to this kid than meets the eye,' Mulder wryly told himself. He quickly gathered his thoughts. 

He held the stone, which he recognized as Cydarite, up and then glanced at the others Faith had lined across the coffee table. Placed in a concentric circle, the mystical crystals would form a sort of power grid around the malevolent entity. 

Trap it, banish it, problem solved. Too easy and too good to be true, Mulder mused. 

"Yes," he conceded, without alarming Faith of his doubts. "That could break the spell." Then, he told him as if he were talking to Scully: "There are legends, especially among certain ancient tribes, that shaman imprisoned evil spirits in mystical stones." 

Faith's eyes widened. 

Mulder wasn't sure if Faith thought he was seriously unhinged or whether he was surprised to find himself being believed. 

Mulder continued, his voice serious. "My question is: what are you planning to use as bait?" 

Faith made a face. Mulder connected the dots. "That's why you were leaving? You were going to use yourself as bait?" 

"Not the most wicked-brilliant plan in the world," Faith admitted with a sigh. 

"You're right," he agreed. "It's not." Mulder felt a twinge of guilt for having misjudged the man. As noble as Faith wanted to be, it would be suicide for him to go out alone with the creature hunting him. 

"Well, I've got this," Faith pointed out, fingering the scapula hanging around his neck. "It's for protection." 

"I don't fancy your chances," Mulder replied, giving the charm a skeptical glance. "Mirragan is literally eating and growing stronger by absorbing the life force," the Agent urgently pressed. "And you're next on the menu." 

"I got that part, Sherlock," the younger man replied. "Why are you so paranoid?" 

"Habit." 

"Well, at least you're consistent." Faith shuddered. "This whole thing's horrible." 

Mulder couldn't agree more. "Here's a worse thought: if it kills you, it will become whole and grow too strong for anything to stop it." 

The silence that followed was thick and heavy, until... 

"Sounds like your typical user," Faith quipped, a buffer to cushion the fear wrenching his stomach. "It's gonna show up, eat my soul, and forget to call." 

"You are way too cynical," Mulder observed dryly. 

"No, just smart," Faith responded. 

* * *

After checking Scully's apartment, then the Hoover building's basement, Skinner finally found the red-haired Agent in the science lab, sitting at a bench, wearing a white coat and latex gloves, and rooting around among the test tubes, bottles and instruments gathered there. 

"Agent Scully," he said, short of breath. 

She turned with a look of surprise radiating at him through her glasses. "Sir, what are you doing here this late?" Panic gripped her heart. "Mulder--Is Mulder all right?" 

"He's fine." Skinner nodded. "He's been trying to call you this evening about the X-File." 

"That's funny..." Scully arched a quizzical eyebrow. She reached into her pocket to check her cell phone; it was on and working perfectly. 

"Why do I suddenly have the feeling he took me for a ride?" Skinner muttered under his breath. 

"Sir?" 

He blinked. "Nothing, Agent Scully." 

Hands on hips, he watched as she moved to a lit freezer cabinet and selected one vial from a cluster. She prepared a microscope slide, then clicked a number of keys on a nearby keyboard and a computer monitor displayed the image. 

Skinner frowned. "What are you doing?" 

"A blood sample found at the last crime scene contained a number of anomalies," she explained. "I took a specimen directly from Faith Matthews and it was a definite match." 

The A.D. heaved a deep sigh. "Mulder has a theory about him." 

"I know." She had a few unspoken of her own. 

"He took off to find him about forty-five minutes ago," Skinner growled worriedly. 

Scully tuned out her boss's voice. She leaned in close to peer at the screen. The lab technician was absolutely correct--this was the oddest blood sample she had ever seen. She caught her breath. The blood type was exactly the same as... 

A frown deepened between Scully's brows, and she quickly put the twinge of anxiety she was feeling on hold. She couldn't let her imagination turn every little thing that didn't have an immediate, logical explanation into a potential X-File. 

The computer instantly sent a red warning message across the screen, indicating a virus. 

"Ion bonding or gel electrophoresis should enhance the image," she went on, effecting minute adjustments of the magnification. 

She gasped. Her blue eyes widened in shock at the unbelievable image. 

'This can't be,' she thought, sitting back in stunned silence as she felt logic and reason fly right out of the proverbial window. 

The virulent element in Faith's blood was a precise match to the alien virus she herself had been infected with. But the structure was different, as if it had mutated... 

'How can this be possible?' Scully fought to still her rapidly beating heart, swallowed, and concentrated. "I've got to find out how this can be," she whispered. 

Skinner, halfway out of the door, caught the shock in her voice. "Agent Scully?" he called. 

She shook herself. Skinner's earlier words came back in a rush: 'He took off to find him...' 

"Oh no." Grasping her cell phone, she quickly punched in Mulder's number. "I've got to phone Mulder and tell him what I've discovered." 

* * *

A burst of lightning flashed and rain smeared against the loft's windows. Within, the two men were at loggerheads once more. 

"You can't do it." Mulder was arguing with Faith. "That thing will rip you to pieces the second you step outside." 

"I don't remember asking for your permission," Faith shot back. He shook his head. "Ho boy, you're bossy--" 

"Man, you're a pain--" Mulder retorted simultaneously. 

The two men stared at each other in bewilderment and anger. The ringing of Mulder's cell phone broke the silence. 

"If this is free dance lessons, I won't be happy," he said, then answered, "Mulder?" 

"Mulder," Scully's excited voice replied. "What's been happening?" 

"Everything's been happening," he said, giving Faith a quick glance. He winced guiltily when he heard Walter's voice ask, "Is he all right?" 

* * *

"I'm here with Faith and we're both fine," Mulder's reply came down the line. 

In the science lab, Scully held up a hand to Skinner and nodded. The older man sighed, relieved. Dana turned back to face the computer. 

"Mulder, I've found something in Faith's blood," she told him, "and I still can't believe what I'm looking at." 

"Something that's affecting me mentally?" She heard her partner whisper, presumably so that Faith couldn't overhear. 

"No, it's--" she began, then paused as Mulder's breathing increased. She pulled the phone away when a sudden burst of static assaulted her ear. Tentatively she listened, and heard Mulder say, "We're in trouble." His voice tense, he told Scully, "I think there's something outside." 

Scully stood up as Faith screamed: "Holy mother-of-pearl!" 

"What? Mulder, what is it? Mulder? Get out of there!" she urgently cried. 

Skinner was by her side in an instant. "What's happening, Scully?" 

"Mulder? Mulder, are you there? Mulder!" she shouted into the phone. She looked up at Skinner with fear in her eyes. "The line's dead." 

* * *

**PART NINE: ACT OF FAITH**

A chill crept through the loft, all of the lights began to flicker, and Mulder's cell phone crackled with static. 

"Scully!" he said loudly. 

Faith tensed. "I think we're in trouble." The fine hairs on the back of his neck bristled. 

The lights winked out, and the darkness that descended on them was only pierced by the illumination of candlelight--Shades of some old ghost movie; musk and notes of stale floral came on very strong. 

Mulder's spine stiffened. "We're in trouble." He nodded. 

Drifting under the door, a thick fog rolled in and blanketed everything. 

"Holy mother-of-pearl!" screamed Faith. 

A sudden loud crash exploded behind the two men. Mulder ducked and Faith covered his head as the windows burst inward and showered them both with shards of glass. A black cloud of shrieking birds rushed toward them like a net. 

A claw struck and knocked the cell phone from Mulder's hand. Mulder grunted and started swearing. 

The white mist grew into a thick fog which coalesced into a vaguely human shape, reaching out arms toward Faith as it started to move. 

Mulder squinted to make out the form, and then wished he hadn't. Draped in swirling fog, it looked like the rotting corpse of an old woman, taller than both of them, and with malevolent black eyes that focused on her intended victim. 

Faith struggled, horrified, caught in the swirling mass of birds, as Mirragan--no longer translucent, she seemed more solid--glided, along with the fog, toward him. 

"Faith!" Mulder shouted. "Grab the crystals!" 

"That's what I'm trying to do," Faith panted. 

He waved his arms to repel the birds around his body and head. As the fluttering black shapes shrieked maddeningly in his ears, Faith realized that the swarm was too thick, and he would never be able to chase them all out of his way. Claws swiped and tore at his clothes. Then, a talon struck him across the cheek. Blood spewed down his face in a shocking cascade of crimson. 

"Faith!" Mulder cried. 

With a cry, the younger man clapped his hand across his wound. 

More black-winged shapes joined the din, swarming into the loft, surrounding and driving Faith closer to Mirragan's deathly-cold embrace. 

Galvanized into action, Mulder wrenched Faith from the enraged birds and thrust him toward the nearest window. "It's too powerful! Run, Faith!" 

Faith pulled himself out toward the fire escape, crushing broken glass underfoot as he went. Rain slammed down on his head and shoulders. He clung to the railing and fought against both the torrent and the flapping birds as he climbed out. 

He turned, blinking through streams of water pouring down from his plastered hair. Mulder wasn't following. "C'mon!" Faith hoarsely yelled. 

Inside, the Agent had dashed across to the bed where he ripped off the thick bedspread and frantically tossed it at the birds. Several went down under the blanket, but swiftly began slicing their way free. 

At that moment, a vanilla candle on the bedside table crashed to the floor, and a spark from the wick set a nearby curtain alight. Orange-and-blue flames geysered out, peppering the walls. 

Just as the smoke from the growing fire started to make his head swim, Mulder heard an agonized scream of glass-shattering intensity that shook the fillings in his mouth and sent an icy chill skittering down his spine. 

Mirragan gave an second ear splitting scream, and swayed in the billowing fog. 

The Agent turned--'Wait, what's wrong with it?'--and watched, intrigued. Mirragan was trying to drift after Faith, but the fire had spread across her path. Now she was swaying and screaming and seemed to be disoriented. 

Mulder didn't have another second to ponder the strange sight as the birds had torn themselves free of the cover, and more were swooping down to claw at him. 

Choking on smoke, Mulder stumbled for the windows. His red, tear-stained eyes found a jacketed arm reaching out for him. Grasping it, he felt Faith pull him onto the rain-lashed fire escape. 

As they made their way down to the street, the malevolent entity's screams pierced their minds and birds poured out of the windows after them. 

Mulder and Faith tore along the sidewalk. Mulder silently cursed the recent illness that had force him to take a taxi here. Because of the darkness and the storm, he could barely see the building's corner up ahead, but he knew that there was no car waiting to hustle them off to safety. 

Reaching out blindly, he grabbed Faith by the arms, pulled him back and flattened himself against the wall. A stream of birds rushed past them and flew up into the lightning streaked sky. 

Faith chanced a glance back to his smoldering home. Billowing smoke and the frightening mist were trickling down out of the shattered windows. 

"It's still coming after us!" he shouted. 

"It wouldn't be a proper nightmare if it wasn't," Mulder wryly told him. 

Faith grimaced. "Oh, we are so dead." 

"Yeah?" Mulder nodded, "thanks for the commentary--wanna do the weather next?" 

"You're impossible, you know that?" 

"I know. I just figured that being petrified was better with company," Mulder riffed. 

Faith sighed, at the moment too scared to trade more barbed comments. "Look, we might not make it, and I--I'm sorry I got you into this." He shivered and focused. "Now what are we gonna do? My loft is on fire, the crystals are history, and I'm outta ideas." 

Mulder hazarded a look and found the fog swirling along the street. 'Damn,' he thought. They couldn't run forever and there would be no place safe for Faith to hide. Mirragan would relentlessly pursue him, so long as she-it-whatever existed. 

He resisted the impulse to check the surrounding sky. If the birds attacked, he wouldn't see it coming. The thought was chilling, and if the circumstances weren't so dire, he might have appreciated the irony. Of all the X-Files, ghosts, ghouls, deranged criminals, and other malevolvent entities he had faced, a flock of birds just might be his undoing. 

Just then, he heard a terrifying and familiar high-pitched screech. The sound intensified as the temperature of the air around his wet face plunged to freezing. There was only one thing that they could do: 

"We run!" Mulder was adamant. 

Faith looked up sharply. "Thanks, Magnum. That's a hell of a plan--cheered me up completely." But he broke into a run. 

* * *

Scully could not believe how fast things had gone so wrong. 

Right after she lost contact with Mulder, she rushed to catch up with Skinner, who was charging down the corridor. Down the elevator and through the underground garage, she followed the A.D. closely and repeatedly tried to reach her partner, but the signal stubbornly refused to go through. 

Dreadfully worried, Skinner peeled out of his parking space while Scully breathlessly gave him directions to Faith's loft. 

She clung to the car's arm rest as he broke every traffic law there was in his haste to get to Mulder. Dana had never seen him this upset, almost on the verge of panic. She reasoned that, because he was taking care of Mulder, he felt responsible for letting her maverick partner tear off after Faith. 

Along the way, Dana tried to reassure both herself and Skinner that, most likely, the storm was causing interferEnce with their cell phones; or that Mulder had simply hung up without saying goodbye--which wouldn't be so odd--and that both he and Faith were now on their way to someplace safe. 

The skeptical look Walter threw her belied the fact that he wasn't convinced. 

All of Scully's theories sank like a fat man in quicksand when she saw a couple of bright red fire trucks outside the apartment complex, standing like beacons within the storm. 

The Agent and the A.D. ran through the ferocious wind and rain, pushed past onlookers brave enough or stupid enough to weather the storm, and into the building. 

'Okay,' Walter thought, as he and Scully raced up numerous flights of stairs; thanks to an out-of-order lift. 'This is the part where I wake up. I'm going to be back in bed holding Fox safely in my arms.' 

Only, he knew better. 

Assistant Director Walter Skinner, ex-marine, was far too used to dashing away from the J. Edgar Hoover building whenever Special Agent Fox Mulder was in danger. 

This was his least favorite but most common form of dja vu. 

He had faced the possibility of losing Mulder before: when he was thrown off the X-Files; his frequent disappearances; and, yes, even to death as well. But now the feelings took on horrible and new ramifications, in light of their recently turned intimate relationship. 

His heart was pounding as he pushed open the stairwell door for Scully, and they found firemen combing the loft apartment. 

Stricken, Walter swallowed and took a step inside. He looked around the burned, wrecked room, fearing the worst. Scully's mouth was set in a tight line that rivaled his clenched jaw, and her gaze mirrored Skinner's worried eyes. 

A burly, yellow-jacketed fireman approached them and Scully quickly flashed him her badge. "What caused the fire?" she asked quickly. 

"We'll have an official report tomorrow, but more than like it was one of these candles." He held up the melted remains of one. 

"Was anyone in here?" Skinner asked gruffly, his voice hoarse with emotion. 

"If they were, they must've gone out the windows." The fireman jerked a thumb toward the gaping holes torn through the glass. 

Skinner, hands on hips, rounded on Scully. "Where could they be?" He had to find Mulder, had to make sure he was safe, had to hold him, and tell him just how much he loved him. 

A smoldering anger simmered in Skinner's eyes, and Scully could feel the tension radiating from the A.D.'s body. 

"Sir, first things first," she said calmly. 

"Agent Scully, I'm glad that you can find calm in this crisis. But that's my--" He exhaled, shook his head as if to clear it, and didn't finish his sentence. Then he swiped off his wirerims to rub at his eyes. But Scully had already seen the beginning of tears, and she sensed that they weren't being caused by the small plumes of smoke still dotting the loft. 

"Dana, I'm sorry," he said as he replaced his glasses. 

She gave him a small smile, and reached out to squeeze his arm. "Don't worry, sir. We'll find him." 

* * *

Running with the wind and the rain, the storm pushed Mulder and Faith on. The furiously squawking birds pursued them, pumping their wings against the force of the rain. 

The wind picked up and a darkened streetlight on a pole crashed inches from the fleeing pair, bringing down electrical lines that snapped and sizzled. Sparks flew everywhere. 

Dodging the live wires, Mulder hung a left at the upcoming corner and pulled Faith along with him. Faith threw a wary glance over his shoulder. The fog drifted on, unfazed by the storm. 

The streets were now saturated with rain and fog, which made it difficult to see anything. Mulder quickened his pace as Faith dashed by, having no idea where they were going. 

Having lived on the South Side of Crystal City--commonly referred to as "the Bad Side"-- for almost a year, Faith peered into the darkness and found one of the reasons why: a series of old, deserted, boarded-up buildings. 

Mulder pounded after Faith, who tore back onto the sidewalk, and wrenched at the first door he could find. Whoever had sealed it up had done too good a job, though. Hearing the shrieking birds approaching, he hurried to the next door. This time, after a few good hard tugs, it opened. 

Faith grabbed Mulder by the arm and pushed his way inside. As soon as they were through the door, Faith slammed it shut behind them. Catching his breath, he darted to look through a crack in a dust-covered window. 

"No sign of our feathered friends," he observed. "Maybe our luck's changing." He stopped and turned and made a face. "Nah, I didn't believe it when I said it either." 

Mulder leaned forward, planting his hands on his thighs as he caught his breath. His dark hair hung in his eyes, and his brows were glistening with water droplets. He wiped at his forehead, feeling as if he'd just ran a hundred-mile dash trying to keep up with Faith. It was a toss up which burned more, his lungs or his legs. 

"You must have been killer at doorbell ditch." He grinned. 

Faith groaned. "Please don't say _that_ word, huh?" 

Mulder rolled his shoulders in circles as he straightened. "You all right?" he asked, rsponding empathetically to the expression on the younger man's face. 

"Dark places," Faith said as he shivered and rubbed warmth into his arms. "I've never liked them. Full of things you can't see." 

Mulder nodded his understanding. He knew exactly how Faith felt; on the rare, once-in-a-blue-moon occasions when he could sleep, he always left the TV on just for the light. He suddenly realized that last night, when he had been wrapped up in Skinner's arms, was the first time he hadn't needed the reasurring glow of the idiot box. 

He felt something warm surge through his senses at the thought. Mulder found himself pondering whether the past two days had all been a dream. If he woke up and found himself and Walter back in their familiar roles of Agent and Assistant Director, respectively, he was certain it would kill him. 

He coughed and his breath whistled in and out of him painfully--he could still feel the smoke in his lungs. 

Smoke. Fire. 

His heart thumped as his mind flashed back to the fire which had broken out in Faith's loft. It had seemed to--no, it had--stunned, weakened and disoriented the evil entity. Of course, a shock to its system... 

He snapped his fingers. "That's it: fire!" he shouted. 

Startled, Faith nearly jumped a foot. "I know," he replied grimly. "I'm never gonna get my cleaning deposit back." 

"No, no, no, don't you see?" The Agent waved his hands in excited agitation. "Fire. It's so simple, it's almost ridiculous. As far back as Ancient Greece, some elemental forces are believed to hold back malevolent spirits." 

"Following," Faith told him. 

In a situation like this, Mulder would usually spend the next five minutes arguing his points to Scully. Grateful for Faith's acceptance, he continued. 

"And the fire in your loft definitely had an effect on Mirragan. An ancient force to fight an ancient evil." 

"So," Faith said, "how are we gonna start a fire?" 

"Well, I've got this." Mulder produced a silver lighter from his jacket pocket. A plan sprang full-blown into his mind. "Now all we need are some combustible materials." 

Faith watched him as he scurried about and searched the gloomy room. "What are you doing?" he asked curiously. 

"Getting very desperate," Mulder replied. "Help me move these old crates." 

Faith obliged, and, together, they hauled several large wooden crates away from a wall. Mulder gave each one a good look. He rubbed his chin. 

"We'll have to smash them up," he decided. He cracked the first rotting crate with three swift, direct clean kicks of his tennis shoe. 

Faith watched him, knowing good and well that they were out of options--they had none, big goose egg, nothin'! Positive thinking. Positive thinking, Faith told himself and gave the idea two thumbs up. 

"How about this, MacGyver?" Faith produced a faded tarp covering one of the boxes. 

Mulder fingered the material. "We could make torches. Either that or we'll have to burn this place to the ground," he grimly told him. He gave Faith a brave stare. "We should make it out only slightly singed." 

Faith arched a wet eyebrow. "You're quite the little arsonist, aren't you?" 

"Are you in?" he asked sharply. 

Faith held up his hands. "I'm in, I'm in." 

While Mulder set to work breaking up the empty boxes, Faith started ripping the tarp into shreds. Before long there was a growing pile of jagged planks and cloth. 

A light sheen of sweat broke out on Mulder's forehead. Once more he cursed the recent attacks that had lead to his involuntary leave of absence. If he were still carrying his gun, at least they'd have a weapon of some sort against the birds. 

Mulder couldn't help but notice Faith's bottom lip trembling as he handed him a piece of tarp. He flashed the Jersey boy another hopeful smile while carefully opening his lighter and dousing the fabric with fluid. He knew that if this plan didn't work that they'd both be torn to pieces at the very least, never mind what else could happen. He decided not to mention his concerns to Faith. 

His hands turning raw, Faith took a deep breath. "My pop always told me not to back down from anything," he said, "and a faint heart never stopped me." 

Mulder glanced up. "It's never stopped me either." 

"And my ma said to never trust a guy who plays with fire," riffed Faith. 

The Agent pouted a bit, but knew that Faith was teasing him, which eased his mind, knowing that this plan was feeding the other man's fiery indignation. 

Thunder boomed and shook the building. This time Faith shuddered. "You know, I keep thinkin' about that night. It was just like this..." 

Mulder didn't say anything. He just watched him and listened, thoughtfully. 

"Just a bit of fun, y'know? Call up the ghost of Winterborne...I was up for anything." Faith grew wistful, his mind wandering back to earlier days. Then his voice dropped. "I just didn't know what they were up for." He glanced at the ceiling and shook his head. "God, I still don't know why I did it. I saw what they were doing, what they might do to me. I wanted to run, but they pulled me back..." 

"I've made more mistakes than I can ever hope to count," Mulder said hoarsely. "The thing is, you have to learn from them and move on." He gave Faith a half-smile. "Or you can be like me and brood about them all night long." 

Faith felt something wash over him; it was a year's worth of terrible pain and deep wounds that had never healed. Sorrow, and loneliness, and guilt, and shame, and loss. 

He looked up at Mulder, anguish and hurt constricting his features. "Yeah, but did your mistakes ever help summon an evil spirit?" he said bluntly. "Did yours get your folks killed?" 

Mulder pursed his lips. The pain in Faith's eyes told him that he had been right about him all along; there was something bottled up that Faith had been refusing to talk about. After a couple of heartbeats, the Agent gently asked, "What happened?" 

Faith stepped away from Mulder, looking miserable. "It was...it was the day after. My pop, he was so angry with me, so angry..." He took a short breath. "And he and my ma were comin' to take me home...but they...they never made it." 

Tears spilled down Faith's cheeks, stinging the fresh scratches there. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his throat. "The next thing I knew the Headmaster was tellin' me about the accident..." 

Mulder swallowed. He tried to think of what he could possibly say that could make things better. Despite everything he had been through and lost, he had no profound wisdom about life and death that he could share with him. 

"Faith, it's not your fault," he said to reassure him. 

"Yeah, but I feel guilty every single day." 

Letting out a sympathetic sigh, Mulder moved closer. "You can't blame yourself for that." 

"No," whispered Faith. 

"You know, I think that you're a gutsy, gutsy guy," he began, but Faith shook his head and repeated, "No..." 

Mulder sighed. He'd never known anyone this stubborn before in his life. He paused and grimaced, remembering that a Quantico professor had said nearly the same thing about him several years ago. 

"Faith, I'm just trying to--" He regarded the other man's terrified, wide eyes and followed his gaze just as the temperature abruptly dropped. 

"It's here," Faith whispered. 

'He's right. It's found him again,' Mulder realized as the damned, seething evilness spread beneath the door. 

Outside, the dark shapes of crows and ravens were surrounding the derelict shop. Mulder's eyes flashed to the shredded tarp and the planks. There wasn't enough time to light the fire, unless he could... 

His speculation was cut off by the rending sound of breaking wood. The front door rocked on its hinges. 

Mulder tensed and shot a look at Faith, who was rigid with terror. "C'mon, Faith!" he shouted as he hauled Faith back by the wrist. 

With astonishing force, the old door burst inward, and the two men staggered back as the room was showered with wood fragments. The fog rolled and eddied from the furious motion of the rain, and then the blanket of gray parted and they saw Mirragan, flanked by a swirling cloud of black birds, drifting inside. 

"Look out!" Faith suddenly shouted. 

The Agent leaped aside as the first wave of birds plowed by mere inches from his face. As he stumbled back, his lighter slipped from his fingers and skittered across the grimy floor. Faith's stomach knotted as the monstrous swarm of birds bore down on him. 

"You dare to deny me?" Mirragan's harsh, sibilant voice accused. A claw-like hand seized Mulder by the throat. His vision filled with her grotesque face. "I can smell the fear all over you." 

Mulder had thought he'd experienced terror before--now he knew he was wrong. He fought in vain against the vice-like grip. 

"Faith, stay back!" he yelled, as he thrashed with the nightmare. 

Black spots danced before Mulder's eyes. His throat and chest constricted as he struggled in vain to breathe. 

Breaking away from the cloud of birds, Faith ran forward with a cry. "He has nothing to do with this!" 

Mirragan hissed and focused her black eyes on Faith. 

"It was me!" he shouted. 

Hurling Mulder to the floor, she swirled around to confront Faith. "Foolish child," she sneered as she floated toward him. 

Faith gasped and winced as Mirragan snatched the scapula from around his neck. He watched helplessly as she crushed the protection charm in her hand. 

Then, she viciously backhanded Faith across the room. Grim-faced and reeling, he scrambled back against a wall. Momentarily stunned, he felt something brush against his hand, and he grasped it. 

Heart beating like it would burst, Mulder gasped for air and struggled to his feet. Quickly recovering his wits, he made a move to help Faith, but the incessant roaring of whirring wings and screeching calls blasted all around, and the birds came at him, forcing him back. 

Birds whirled and talons swiped. Their points grazed his arm, tearing through his jacket and raking his flesh. Swearing, Mulder shielded his head with his arms. 

On the other side of the room, Faith frantically crouched back from the spectral figure. A cruel smile played across her chalk-white lips as she hovered above him. 

"You believed their lies, thought you were untouched," she croaked. "Now you are the last. You're death will make me complete!" 

"No!" Faith cried out, terrified. 

"I've waited a long time for this." The ghostly figure reached down and gripped Faith's neck. In one swift motion, she lifted his struggling body off the ground. 

"NO!!" he screamed. A few feet above the floor his legs dangled and kicked frantically. 

A burning fever, followed by an icy chill, swept through Faith's body as the malevolent being started draining his life away. It was only a matter of minutes before he would be like the others: nothing more than a hollow corpse. 

Mulder fought to free himself from the raging cloud of birds. He caught Faith's tearful gaze, and their eyes locked for a few eternal seconds in which Mulder willed Faith to hang on. 

Then the unexpected happened. 

With his last surge of strength Faith flicked the lighter he'd retrieved and brought its bright flame up into Mirragan's face. 

Releasing her strangle-hold on him, she gave a piercing scream and drifted back. Choking and rubbing his reddened throat, Faith stumbled toward the torches Mulder had made with the resources at hand. With trembling fingers, he quickly lit one of the shredded, fluid-soaked pieces of tarp that hung off a jagged end. 

The birds, sensing that their mistress was in danger, fled from Mulder and homed in on the boy. 

"Faith!" Mulder bellowed, his voice hoarse and strained. 

Riding a wave of fury, Mirragan swirled in the thick fog, her hands outstretched toward Faith. 

Anger clawed through Faith's fear as the makeshift torch flamed brighter. With all his raging emotions unleashed and burning with an inner fire all their own, Faith gave a loud cry, hauled back and thrust the plank forward. 

Mulder's eyes widened in surprise as he saw the crimson spear strike Mirragan's chest, sizzling and crackling. She screamed with rage and agony, her black eyes bulging out of her ghostly-white face. 

The birds emitted horrible screeches and surrounded her as the red glow burning within her brightened and expanded until she burst into flames. The fire flared for a brilliant instant, then died. Charred ash drifted to the smoking ground where Mirragan had been. 

All was still. 

Then a shocking fluttering of wings broke the silence. The once vengeful crows and ravens took flight, moving in one group out of the building, and soaring away into the night sky. 

Panting and gasping, Mulder and Faith huddled, battered and bruised, against the wall. They stared at one another in wide-eyed amazement, then at the ashes of Mirragan as they were swept away by the wind. 

* * *

Thunder rolled and rumbled, but the rain had cleared and both the unnatural fog and bitter wind had dispersed. 

Every muscle in Fox Mulder's body ached, and his throat was sore from inhaling rain and smoke. But he felt exhilarated from the fact that he'd faced a malevolent legend and lived to tell the tale. 

He mentally drew an X for taking down the Red Baron on his very own imaginary flying red dog house. 

The moon, just shy of being full, appeared and cast soft illumination on the damp buildings. Having searched the front streets, Skinner and Scully had split up to check the back alleys. 

On his own, and worried out of his mind, Skinner caught his breath when Mulder appeared round a corner looking like a hurricane refugee. 

"Mulder--" Skinner started toward him. 

Mulder's face lit up like a Christmas tree when he saw the A.D. He braced himself, wondering if Walter would be thoroughly pissed at him for his small deception. He visibly relaxed when he saw only relief beaming on Skinner's face. 

Reaching Mulder, Skinner folded him into his arms, kissing him lightly on the forehead. Breathless, Mulder propped himself up against the older man's broad chest, and gave himself the luxury of this moment, grateful for the warmth, both physical and emotional. 

"Are you okay?" Skinner asked, his usual gruff voice as soft as his touch. 

Mulder nodded, the moonlight shining in his eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine." 

"You're sure?" Feeling an enormous weight lift off his shoulders, Walter ran a hand through the Agent's matted hair. "Well, I would've called, but the storm knocked the phones out," he stated without missing a beat. 

Mulder looked up and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry about that." 

"Mulder!" Scully called, her voice echoing off the brickwork of the surrounding buildings. 

The lovers reluctantly parted when she came running toward them. Catching her breath, Dana licked her lips and focused her attention on her partner's grimy, wet, scratched face. 

"I just saw Faith heading back," she said. "Is everything all right?" 

"It's over," Mulder confirmed. 

When Scully looked as if she were about to bombard him with questions, he went on. 

"I don't have a definite, categorized or easily referenced answer." He paused. "Let's just say the danger's over and leave it at that for now." 

"That's good enough for me," Skinner replied. 

Giving her partner a quick once-over, Scully commented, "You seem to be in good shape." 

"Sometimes you just need a little break to recharge and refresh," he sarcastically replied. 

"A little break?" Scully rolled her eyes. Typical Mulder. Not even a full day on leave and he'd gone back into the field. Thinking that he might develop a case of pneumonia, she advised a hot bath and plenty of rest. 

"I'll see to it," Skinner assured her. 

The look that passed between the two men did not go unnoticed by the red-haired agent. 

Still dazed, Mulder turned a sharp eye toward her. "Scully, what were you going to tell me about Faith?" he asked, recalling their earlier phone conversation. 

"Oh." She hesitated, then shook her head. "It'll keep for later." Much later, she added mentally. "How is he?" 

"Good." Mulder exhaled. "He really came through in the end. He had a lot to deal with, but he did it. He got it behind him." 

"I'm glad to hear it." Scully turned and looked up at the apartment complex, lost in her own thoughts. 

* * *

Worn out, yet determined, Mulder found Faith sitting on the floor of his loft. The windows were a complete wreck, but the fire had only damaged the bedroom--it would take some work, but it would be liveable. 

"Hey, you okay?" Mulder called from the doorway. 

Faith glanced up with a tired half-smile. "You better believe it." 

The Agent cleared his throat and took a tentative step inside. "I won't stay long. I just wanted to, uh, come by and thank you." 

"For what?" 

"For what? You mean, besides saving my life?" Mulder chuckled. 

Shaking his head, Faith gestured toward the blackened walls. "Just look at this place," he said, changing the subject. 

Mulder attempted to put his hands in his pockets, but winced from the scratches covering them, and opted to nod instead. 

"Yeah, looks like a bomb dropped on it." He narrowed his eyes curiously. "What are you going to do?" 

"Hmmm?" Faith shrugged a shoulder. "Oh, I'll stay with my friend Mags. She's the salt of the earth. Y'know, till everything's fixed." 

"So what about Luke Palmer?" ventured Mulder, remembering his first heated encounter with Faith at the hospital. "Do you know how he is?" 

Faith drew a deep breath. "He's okay, I guess, except I'm not too sure he wants to see me anymore." 

Mulder shifted awkwardly. "Oh, I'm sorry." 

"Nah. Can't say I blame him. Y'know? He doesn't remember exactly what happened to him, but he knows it's something bad and he knows it's something to do with me." 

"Yeah, well--" Mulder frowned like he had suddenly forgotten what he was going to say. 

"Yeah, easy come, easy go," Faith muttered with more bravado to cover hurt feelings. He pressed his hand against his cheek. "What do ya think, trip to the E.R.?" he suggested. 

Realizing that he was seguing the topic once more, Mulder looked closely at Faith and the gash formed by the birds. To his amazement, it already seemed to be rapidly healing. 

"The white-shirt who doctored my arm was pretty sweet," Faith remarked. "Told me to be careful around dangerous equipment." He chuckled lustily. 

"No worries," Mulder replied after a moment. "You'll probably just get away with a scar." 

Faith nodded with a sigh, then picked something up from the debris. He brushed ashes away from a photograph of his parents. 

Mulder peered over his shoulder and took a guess. "You know I bet they'd be pretty proud of you," he commented. 

"I hope so." Faith sniffled and pulled himself together. "'Cause I'm pretty damn proud of me right now." He offered a genuine smile to Mulder. 

Giving him a clumsy "See ya," and not sure what else he could do, Mulder turned to leave. But he paused out in the hall. He could feel the stirrings of yet another headache forming in the back of his mind. If Faith wasn't psychic, then what could have triggered his visions? He wondered what nightmare was locked inside trying to force its way free. 

* * *

Skinner quietly opened the hospital room door and found Mulder exactly where he'd left him; sitting in a plastic chair beside his mother's bed. He hadn't argued when his lover asked to see her, especially after the Agent promised to go home and take a long, hot bath afterward. 

He heard Mulder's whispered words drift by his ear. 

"What happened, mom?" Mulder asked as he held her hand. "Why can't I remember?" 

Walter cleared his throat and stepped further into the room. Mulder moved away from the bed and leaned his back against the cool wall. 

"I wish I knew what to do for her," he sadly confessed. 

Skinner thought for a moment. "It's confusing when you feel helpless. When someone you care about is sick, and all you can do is worry." 

Mulder exhaled heavily. "I just hope..." He looked at Skinner, almost tearful. "I hope..." 

Skinner said, with all his heart, "Me, too." 

The A.D. enfolded Mulder in his arms and Mulder crushed his face against his chest. Skinner was there for Mulder, completely, no matter what he needed from him, and at that moment, they both knew it. 

* * *

An exhausted Dana Scully exited the lift and brushed a stray lock of red hair back into place. Her heels tapped out a steady staccato rhythm as she made her way down a dimly-lit hall toward the F.B.I. science lab. 

She would not be able to rest until she'd had a proper look at Faith's blood sample and attempted to isolate--she still couldn't believe it--the virual element. Though her partner was safe again, she decided that it was best to tell Mulder about it when she had all the facts and when she felt that the time was right. 

The first thing on her agenda was to have the sample thoroughly tested at a private lab, then learn all she could about Faith Matthews's medical history and what he might have been exposed to. Luckily, she'd already set the wheels in motion for a complete background check. 

Exhaling, she pushed open the lab door. In her haste to leave she'd left the lights on. Scully walked inside and stiffened. 

The once clinical science lab was now a complete shambles. 

Chairs and desks were overturned. Filing cabinets had been ripped open, their contents spilling out onto the floor. Both the computer and microscope she had been working with were smashed to pieces. 

Scully dashed forward and discovered that the slide containing the blood sample was broken in two. Heart thudding in her ears, she hurried across toward the freezer cabinet, ignorning the chill to her hands as she opened the glass panel. 

The vial containing Faith's blood was missing. 

Dana cursed herself for being careless. She had been so close to the truth, and as Mulder once warned her, someone out there was still watching them. Now _they_ would know about Faith Matthews and have the dangerous knowledge that a mutated strain of the virus was residing in his bloodstream. 

Her mouth set in a determined line. There were too many unanswered questions and the frightening reality of someone unknowingly carrying the alien virus in their blood. 

Scully held the cracked slide up to the light. Mysteries and secrets. Whatever they were, she'd find out. 

**TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Chad Moore 


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